


Emerald Moon - Coalition of Deer and Lion

by shadowshrike



Series: Emerald Moon AU [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Canonical Character Death, Developing Friendships, Gen, Golden Deer and Blue Lion Joint Path, Politics, Post-Time Skip, Redemption, Slow Burn, Subtext, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-08-20 10:00:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 66,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20225992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowshrike/pseuds/shadowshrike
Summary: “He’s alive. That’s cause enough to celebrate, don’t you think?”A merging of the Golden Deer and Blue Lion paths, carving a new fate for Fodlan and the world.





	1. Gronder Field

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still wrapping up my Golden Deer run, but I just finished Chapter 17, and I couldn't wait to get started on this fic. I've wanted to write it since being inspired by Dimitri and Claude's relationship in BLs, wanting to see what they would manage together if they were not forced apart by awkward plot contrivances. 
> 
> Please mind the rating and tags. I'll be adjusting them as I get into the meat of the story, but I expect there to be many mentions of graphic violence, torture, and mental illness given Dimitri's prominent role, as well as very few mentions of Byleth. This is meant to be a story about the students primarily.

Gronder Field sprawled before him, engulfed in flame and littered with dead so numerous their vivid uniforms could have been mistaken for wildflowers from wyvernback if not for the inescapable stench of blood and burnt flesh. It was a picture for the history books. In fact, Claude was certain he had seen it before.

Back in his academy days, when they first visited this field together, he’d spent an entire month reading up on Gronder Field and the infamous battles which had taken place here. The sprawling forests, the river and its bridges used as chokepoints, the fortified hill in the center which cavalry couldn’t reach and fliers would be shot down trying to approach - he’d devised at least a dozen different schemes using every tactical location, just in case Teach couldn’t pull through for them. He’d even considered setting the hill aflame as Edelgard had but ended up discarding the idea as too dangerous to his fellow classmates. He must have looked at two dozen historical accounts and half as many maps that month, all in the name of triumph.

Claude had forgotten much over five years, but there was one image from those hours upon hours of research that never left him. 

The painting could be found halfway through a tome whose gilding had long since flaked away, leaving the title unreadable other than the ominous word ‘War’. The artwork was called ‘The Price of Victory’. Reading the caption below had suggested it had been painted by a soldier on the day the Battle of Gronder ended, its recreation in the book’s pages depicting the sun setting over the battle’s aftermath. In it, Gronder’s river ran red, though whether it was a reflection of the crimson sky or tainted with the blood of the fallen remained up to the viewer’s imagination. The soldiers huddled on its hill were angry splotches of color on a muted background, the trees, shaky strokes smeared with ash, as though the artist had taken one of their charred branches and dragged it against the canvas. There were no faces on that battlefield. The people weren’t important, not as important as the emotion in the piece. A scream of anguish immortalized in ink, paying tribute to the living and the dead. 

Ignatz’s depictions of his Goddess, for all their beauty and skill, could never compare to the raw feeling in that book’s singular illustration. 

That image had haunted Claude for years once the war started. It served as a reminder that even his ambition had to have limits; to unify through subjugation was no unification at all. He could not afford to become what Edelgard had. Now experiencing the painting in person, the smell of sweat and death clinging to his skin made bile rise in his throat. The dead soldiers here had too many faces he recognized in contrast to the blank smears of color in the book. 

It was never supposed to end this way between them. 

No, that wasn’t quite it. Claude gazed over the field to where the scarlet banners of the Empire retreated over the horizon. It hadn’t ended at all yet. This was only a single battle, a single victory for the Alliance and his vision of an open Fodlan. The Empire had not broken, and as long as Edelgard fought on, there would be more old friends who would die.

Claude sighed as he guided his wyvern down to rest among the trees. It would be hard to find his smile tonight, but they’d need it more than ever after this battle. Especially the ex-Blue Lions who had found their way to his command when their Kingdom lost its future king and fell under the Empire’s sway. To see their crown prince again after five long years in such a state had shaken them to the core. Claude had caught it all from the corner of his eye as they prepared to march: the tremble of Felix’s sword hand, Sylvain’s horse pawing restlessly at the ground as it felt its rider’s desire to charge through the reins, Mercedes and Annette whispering to each other with fervor, Ashe mouthing an inaudible call for his old lord, and the stricken look on Ingrid’s face as she took to the skies at his side.

What could he say to them after that? Claude was grateful his fellow house leader had not been a true enemy on the field, only attacking when they’d accidentally positioned themselves between his troops and the Emperor, but that did nothing to keep his beastly roars for vengeance from echoing in their ears. He’d been deaf to anything but his hatred today. 

Claude didn’t want to think about what had caused that change during these five years. He also cursed his naturally overactive mind, knowing it wouldn’t rest until he worked out how the man’s demons had managed to consume his heart. He’d replay old conversations had in the dead of night and revisit half-formed hunches about his classmates, trying to work out a better outcome, just as he had with Edelgard. 

Despite all odds, they’d been friends, once. An outsider and atheist welcomed with admiration by the crown prince of a holy kingdom. Claude never completely trusted it back then. Kept waiting for the prince to snipe at him like Lorenz had or yell at him for his schemes rather than giving a good-natured chuckle and praising his cleverness. 

The betrayal never came. For all the reasons he had to tear Claude down, he had remained so kind, so earnest, so…

“Dimitri…!”

Hilda’s shriek tore across the forest from the north. Body reacting before his mind, Claude’s heels dug into the wyvern’s sides, urging her to lurch toward the horrifying sound. The frenzied take off didn’t allow her wings to clear the branches. It sent them barrelling through the trees in a cacophony of broken limbs that drowned out the sound of other soldiers rushing to the scene as well. Allies, Claude hoped.

_ Don’t assume the worst. Edelgard’s retreated. Dimitri wouldn’t have attacked Hilda for no reason. He couldn’t have. Stay calm. She needs you to stay calm. _

Had his heart not been pounding in his throat, Claude would have laughed at having racing thoughts about how calm he needed to be. He didn’t have time to consider it. As he burst forth from the tree line, steed shaking the splinters from her wings, he was faced with a dire scene and only a second to act.

Hilda, to his right, desperately fighting off a soldier from the Empire’s rearguard. An entire battalion of red-clad bodies lay in front of him, slaughtered with brutal efficiency. And in the distance, an Imperial poised to kill with spear raised, looming over a mound of blonde hair, blue fabric, and dark fur dyed red by the men at his feet and the puncture wounds that had punched clean through black armor.

Claude mirrored Hilda’s shout, raising his bow to the sky. It was an impossible shot. He loosed the arrow anyway, a half-formed prayer twisting in his heart as he watched it soar through the air, all too aware that he may have just gambled away his friend’s life.

The arrow struck home through the Imperial soldier’s neck. Claude heaved a sigh of relief, and to his side, Hilda shouted a victorious cry as she downed the man attacking her. Dimitri slumped to the grass, cutting their moment of solace short.

“Marianne!” Claude yelled as he drove forward again, Hilda running a few paces behind. “Marianne, we need Dorte! Dimitri’s been injured!”

He lost track of what happened next. Dimitri’s eye was already closed when he got there, though whether from passing out or lack of caring whether he lived or died, Claude wasn’t sure. He dirtied his gloves trying to staunch the bleeding. Then Marianne was there, pale but determined as her hands took over his with what little healing magic she had left in her after the long battle. 

“I’m sorry, Claude. I don’t think I can heal him completely. I’m so useless...” Marianne mumbled, the strain of pushing her limits beading sweat on her delicate brow. 

“Is he stable?”

The healer bit her lip. “I...think so? The bleeding has stopped, and he’s still breathing.”

“Let’s get him onto Dorte. We can finish healing him at the monastery,” Claude ordered. He lowered himself beneath one arm and lifted, expecting Hilda to do the same on the other side, only to find the prince’s massive body didn’t budge. Claude was never particularly strong, but Dimitri had never been this large at the academy either. It was like he grew a half a head taller and twice as broad in the span of a few years.

“What the heck have you been eating…? Actually, nevermind, don’t tell me. I’m sure I don’t want to know,” Claude grumbled under his breath to the unconscious body.

They only managed to get him onto Dorte when Sylvain rode up a moment later, uncharacteristically quiet as he and Hilda handled the matter. Too tired to even pretend to flirt, he told the two ladies to take his horse. Sylvain frowned when his eyes met Claude’s.

“What are you planning to do with him?” the knight asked. Claude suspected his answer would determine whether or not the few Kingdom soldiers he’d gathered would still be in the monastery come tomorrow’s dawn.

Hiding his calculations behind a non-committal shrug, the Alliance leader replied, “For now? We’re going to take care of all those extra holes in his body. Everything after that depends on him.”

Sylvain’s frown deepened. “I guess that’s all we could realistically ask for.”

“Don’t look so glum. It doesn’t suit you,” Claude countered with a trademark smile. “He’s alive. That’s cause enough to celebrate, don’t you think?”

“Ha...yeah. Yeah. Sorry, don’t know what came over me.” 

Sylvain’s hollow laugh rang across the bloody land. Claude’s own followed right behind. 

For now, riding through the fields of people they used to know, there was no harm in hiding within their humor. The memories of those who had fallen and the Kingdom’s greatest secret would still be waiting for them tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @vanillatales created some absolutely [beautiful art](https://www.instagram.com/p/B8bVJrRHsf9/?igshid=9wn7hzrdjh0f) of the scene where Claude saves Dimitri that you should check out!


	2. War Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Alliance discusses their next steps as Claude mulls over another, riskier scheme.

What did Claude do with his life before war councils and Alliance round tables filled every waking hour? Ah, right, unimportant things like reading, eating, and sleeping. Getting yelled at about ‘priorities’ by a bunch of Fodlan nobles was clearly a much better use of his time.

He meant that honestly, despite the bitter undertone of his thoughts. Not that Claude didn’t prefer researching the history of Fodlan to persuading a roomful of powerful people who barely trusted him that his actions were in their best interest, but ambitious dreams required sacrifice. If he was lucky, the sacrifice would only be his time and maybe his sanity rather than tens of thousands of lives after another decade of war. He’d be more optimistic if said nobles had agreed to provide aid with troops rather than lip service.

Regardless, that was something for him to worry about rather than the men and women waiting for him in the war room. Plastering on a confident smile, Claude pushed the doors open.

“Leader Man, you’re late!” greeted Hilda’s whine. “It’s like you don’t value our precious time at all.”

Had he not been waltzing in a quarter past the promised hour and feeling remorseful about it, Claude would have questioned what important business he could possibly be keeping Hilda from, other than conning a few hapless guards into taking her shift cleaning the training grounds. 

He offered an apologetic grimace instead, “Yeah, I know. Sorry, everyone. The Alliance leaders weren’t exactly forthcoming today. The victory at Gronder Field has boosted their confidence in our ability to repel the Empire, but they still aren’t going to be sending us any troops for a while due to unrest back home. Whatever our next move is, we’re going to be on our own.”

Ingrid cleared her throat, drawing attention to the side of the table where the representatives of Faerghus had gathered. Only she, Sylvain, and Ashe seemed engaged in the conversation at hand. Felix was looking anywhere but at the others, twitching in his seat as though being separated from the friend he thought was dead was physically painful for him, while Mercedes and Annette had been spending their day with Marianne, trying to get the lost prince to wake up. 

It turned out that Dimitri had collapsed from exhaustion as much as the puncture wound in his back. Stripping off the prince’s armor to clean it had revealed a mass of scars, fresh cuts, and bruises all over his body. As if the missing eye wasn’t obvious enough, his massive frame resembling that of a torture victim’s painted a gruesome picture of how the past five years being presumed dead had treated Dimitri. He’d been pushed so far that the healers were dumbfounded as to how he could have fought at Gronder at all, much less slaughtered so many Imperial (and some Alliance) troops.

Ingrid interrupted Claude’s silent theorizing with a clear voice, “Speaking of our next move, we’ve been talking to the Kingdom soldiers who followed His Highness onto the battlefield at Gronder. They want to retake the capital and return stability to the region. However, His Highness has disagreed in favor of attacking Edelgard directly. From what they say, she and the Empire are thought to have been behind the Tragedy at Duscur.” Ingrid folded her hands on the table, lips tightening to contain her bitterness. “If that’s true, I understand his motivations for pursuing Edelgard.”

“Tragedy at Duscur?” Ignatz wondered from across the table. He looked to Raphael and Hilda on either side, who both shrugged.

“The assassination of the King and Queen of Faerghus nine years ago. It turned into a massive bloodbath,” Claude provided, shaking his head. “From what I’ve heard, Dimitri was the only surviving witness to what happened. He never blamed Duscur, but the Kingdom did. They nearly wiped Duscur’s people off the map in retaliation.”

Ashe’s green eyes flashed with fire, and Claude wondered when his determination had grown so infectious. “If the Empire’s really the one who killed all those people, then everything Dedue suffered through because the Kingdom blamed Duscur is their fault, too,” he reasoned, slamming his fists on the table. “We can’t just ignore it!”

“And we won’t ignore it,” Claude reassured him. He rested his chin on his fist, pondering how the Faerghus nobles exchanged some sort of code through their silent glances to each other. Childhood friends were almost as bad as siblings when it came to mind-melding. He’d have to guess carefully at what they were agreeing upon before choosing a course of action. “For now, though, I think we need to set the matter aside. We don’t know enough to make a judgment about what really happened during the Tragedy. Besides, there’s something a lot more pressing we need to discuss…”

“The boar,” Felix interjected with a sneer.

Claude swallowed his urge to bristle, masking it with a vacant smile. He’d never understood how Dimitri tolerated one of his closest friends calling him such a hateful nickname day in and day out. It reminded Claude too much of the names his bullies used to call him as a kid. Even if they saw him now, leading the Alliance, he wondered if they wouldn’t call him something inane like ‘The King of Cowards’. It stung more than it had a right to at his age.

Then again, maybe Dimitri hadn’t tolerated the name-calling as well as they all thought either. His behavior on the battlefield had seemed like he finally took Felix’s ramblings about what a beast he was to heart.

“Dimitri being alive presents an unprecedented opportunity,” Claude continued, choosing to ignore Felix’s outburst. “Having the rightful King of Faerghus on our side would make our banner that much stronger, especially if he can reclaim his crown.”

Lorenz was the first to agree with a haughty drawl, “Yes, having more nobles with a proper upbringing and lineage is desperately needed. The Knights of Seiros and lords from House Gautier and House Fraldarius do add some weight to our cause, but even my father would be hard-pressed to continue his fight if the King of Faerghus himself opposed the Empire.”

“That all assumes he’s willing to listen to you,” Sylvain countered. He was frowning again, dark thoughts clouding his lackadaisical disposition. “I hate to say it, but His Highness didn’t seem to be all that interested in your words at Gronder.”

Claude merely laughed, “He wouldn’t be Dimitri if he wasn’t stubborn once his mind’s set on something. Let’s just focus on what our next move should be. You let me worry about convincing him.” A dozen incredulous pairs of eyes stared back at him. “Hey, have a little faith!”

“...ironic, coming from you…” Ignatz mumbled under his breath.

“No offense, Leader Man, but I don’t think Dimitri’s interested in talking to anyone. When I was watching him at Gronder he seemed kinda...crazy. Like the only thing he could think about was fighting,” Hilda said, giving voice to the room’s thoughts. “I want to see him back as much as anyone, but you’d have an easier time trying to convince one of Edelgard’s giant lizards to help us.”

Claude filed that insane idea away for another day, one where he had a better understanding of how those monsters were created and whether or not they still had human consciousness in there somewhere. He didn’t need to persuade a monster. He needed to persuade a man who, if Claude had to take a wild guess, had convinced himself it was easier to fashion himself as a monster than remaining a human being despite hating every second of it. 

Dimitri despised violence. Claude still firmly believed that much, even if the current evidence seemed contradictory. He had some hypotheses as to why the prince was behaving so strangely, but without talking to the man about the past five years, Claude wasn’t about to go spouting his theories to anybody else. If he was wrong about Dimitri or what was driving him, he didn’t want to make this harder than it was already going to be on everyone.

“Just give me a chance to talk to him, alright? That’s all I ask,” Claude pled to the room. They didn’t protest further, which he took to be agreement. “In the meantime, we should carry on with our plans as if Dimitri isn’t going to join our cause. That means marching for Enbarr first rather than returning to retake the Kingdom. The Alliance conquering Fhirdiad won’t do us any favors in reuniting the people, and we’ve got Edelgard on the run right now. The longer we wait, the more the Empire will fortify their positions.” He turned to Faerghus’s constituents, who were sharing another one of their silent pow wows. “What do you guys say? We need your help if we’re going to have any chance of taking down our next target.”

The lot of them (minus Felix) huddled into one another, sharing murmurs that Claude strained his ears to pick out to no avail. When they finally pulled apart, Ingrid nodded on their behalf. “From what we know now, His Highness’ desires and yours are the same. We’ll make the Empire pay for their crimes.”

“We’ll do our part, too,” Ignatz chimed in from his side of the table. The rest of his fellow Golden Deers muttered their assent, even Lorenz nodding along with only minor complaints.

Claude grinned, pushing his chair back so he could stand. That had been quicker than he anticipated. Who knew the bonds he’d made at the Academy would make such a difference after all these years. “Then that’s settled. Sorry to cut and run, but I’ve still got a few other things to take care of today. You guys hold down the fort until I get back, alright?”

“Wait, what about the attack on Enbarr?” Ingrid pressed. “We don’t have enough troops to carry it out as we are now, and…”

“We’ll talk about that next time. Don’t worry, I’ll think up something. You know my schemes always come through,” Claude interrupted with a wink. 

Ingrid glared back, less than impressed, but the leader of the Alliance was already making his exit before she could drag him back into the conversation. He really did have a place to be, and he’d need to hurry if he didn’t want anyone following him. Better to leave them angry and complaining about his sudden disappearance than wondering where he was going in such a rush.

He tore across the monastery and through the cathedral, slowing in fits whenever he stumbled across a guard to avoid raising suspicions. It wasn’t until he reached the locked door in the northwestern-most part of the grounds that he eased to a stop. Mercedes was standing outside, waiting for him.

“Hey, Mercedes!” Claude greeted with a wave and a grin. “Everything go okay?”

She nodded and smiled back, though her smile was tinged with doubt. “Yes, Claude. I don’t think anyone saw us, just like you asked, and the herbs you gave me helped him regain consciousness. Although...”

“Although? I don’t like the sound of that.”

Mercedes clenched her clasped hands. “Well...it’s just that he started asking me why I saved him once he could speak again. He didn’t want to take food or water either. It’s not that I’ve never heard a soldier I’ve healed say those things before, but Dimitri was always such a kind person...it’s distressing to see him that way.”

“Hey now, don’t talk like that,” Claude said. He clapped a friendly hand on her shoulder. “It’s thanks to you he’s still alive at all. If there’s a way to bring him back to his friends now that he’s awake, we’ll find it. I’ll take care of it from here.”

The woman sighed, but she gave a firm nod in return and pushed her smile wider. “You’re right. I mustn’t give up hope. If Dimitri could always believe in me, then I need to keep believing in him, too. I think I’ll say a prayer to the Goddess for his sake and all of the fallen at Gronder.”

“You do that.” It came out glib, but Claude meant it sincerely. He might not believe in the Goddess, but he did believe in the comfort a higher power gave to others. If a few prayers would help Mercedes keep her optimistic spirit they all relied on, Claude would support her praying as often as she wanted to.

“You know, you’re not as bad as they say, Claude. I’m so glad we were all able to become friends,” she said with a little laugh. He held his tongue about wondering exactly what ‘they’ said. Instead, he nodded and watched her back as it shrunk away in the direction of the cathedral.

Once the only sound he could hear was the quiet hooting of a distant messenger owl, Claude cracked the door open. Its hinges screeched in protest.

A romantic might call the inside a utilitarian bedroom. A prison cell was probably a more apt description. A single table with unwanted rations on it stood in the middle of the room, and an untouched bed pressed against a wall with only the light of a few dim torches to illuminate it. In the corner sat the silhouette of a massive man curled upon himself. He wore the plain garb of a patient and a distant, one-eyed stare, so still that he could have been a statue.

The man's lone eye snapped to Claude. A chill raced down the Alliance leader’s spine as he stared into its icy depths, followed by an overwhelming urge to run. What was a deer thinking, walking brazenly into the den of a hungry lion?

“Claude,” the beastly man said, more growl than greeting.

“Hey, Dimitri. It’s been a while,” Claude returned, smiling so the shaking of his hands didn’t reach his voice. “I think we’ve got a few things to talk about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More [incredible artwork](https://www.instagram.com/p/B8bVPHsHBEL/?igshid=6sfunwhkkh7n) by @vanillatales for this chapter, showing the war council coming to an agreement to work together with varying levels of enthusiasm about it.


	3. First Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude tries to have a discussion with the newly awakened Dimitri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note that, in case it was unclear in earlier chapters, this fic puts more emphasis on Claude's scheming side and his propensity to withhold information than the game did. I know a lot of people like a more 'pure good' portrayal of him, so this is your warning that the greyness of how he makes decisions as a leader really starts to come out in this chapter.

“I have no interest in talk,” Dimitri rumbled. He still hadn’t moved from his hunched position in the corner of the room, but Claude could see a ripple of tension beneath the patient’s scrubs he wore. One wrong move and the lion was ready to pounce.

Claude placed a hand on his hip, close to the dagger always tucked in the fabric of his belt. “Okay. Then how about I talk and you listen?”

A low noise - possibly a scoff - huffed from the prince. Claude anticipated a snide comment about him already talking too much, like their mutual friends would have uttered, but Dimitri didn’t even give him the satisfaction of mockery. He didn’t want anything to do with his savior turned captor. In fact, his eye wasn’t focused on Claude at all.

The Alliance leader followed Dimitri’s gaze, twisting his neck to look at the blank wall to his left. He glanced back at the crumbled prince. “You aren’t considering breaking through the wall, are you?”

That seemed to catch Dimitri’s attention again. The frozen eye narrowed at Claude. “I would break you first.” 

“Glad to know I’m more of a threat than a poor, defenseless wall,” Claude quipped. When Dimitri’s breathing picked up as if considering what he should do about the man standing between him and freedom, he rushed to continue, “...But lucky for both of us, I don’t have any intention of getting in your way. Actually, I think I can help you out. I mean, I already  _ did _ help by keeping you alive. But before I give away any more acts of goodwill, I need to understand what you’re after and why.”

“Edelgard’s head,” came Dimitri’s snarled answer. The ice in his eye caught fire when her name left his tongue, deep shadows beneath it made even darker by their sudden fury. He muttered something else under his breath that Claude couldn’t hear over the crack of rubble beneath Dimitri’s clenched fingers.

Claude sighed, shaking his head as if he was talking to a child rather than a warlord who could snap his neck with a flick of his wrist. “Alright, that accounts for the what, though I could have guessed that much from Gronder. What I really want to know is why. Why the sudden obsession with killing her? You’ve been presumed dead by the Kingdom for five years, and Blaiddyd’s territories are still under Empire control, so I doubt it has anything to do with the war.”

“They need it,” Dimitri muttered. His eye flicked back to the wall over Claude’s shoulder, and the Alliance leader suddenly understood why Lysithea and Ashe quaked at Mercedes’ ghost stories. “They’ll keep burning until I get it. It won’t  _ end _ until I have it...”

“They? They who?” Claude pressed. Dimitri seemed to have lost sight of him again, his voice rolling into a series of urgent whispers to a presence Claude couldn’t see or feel. He hoped his voice would cut through whatever was going on in that blonde head of his.

“Father...mother...Glenn...Dedue…” The prince’s eye roved around the room with every name. Staring at their ghosts, Claude presumed while dread dragged his heart towards his toes. Is the reason they hadn’t found Dedue at Gronder because he was dead? “I’m sorry...I’m sorry...I’ll get her head so you can rest...just a little longer…I promise...!”

The ground beneath Dimitri’s hands shattered again as a hysterical edge built in his voice, his tormented eye squeezing shut against something Claude couldn’t comprehend.

He’d had many guesses as to what had brought the prince so low in his thirst for revenge, ranging from a secret love of war he couldn’t stomach (the lady doth protest too much, as they say) to a lover’s quarrel that ended in betrayal, but never this. It made a sick sort of sense. The dead has always been used as a bargaining chip by the living. They were a convenient reason for war and hate, an easy way to unite people by manipulating their grief. The memory of the dead could carry a conflict for generations, long after the original motivation had been lost. 

It seemed as though, this time, Dimitri was the one calling forth the dead to torture himself. He held onto their memories with a grip so strong, it had warped his reality. Yet, confusingly, he was equally desperate for them to leave him alone, like the sweet boy at the academy who had begged to atone for even the slightest offenses so he could find peace.

That made Claude wonder how long these hallucinations had been happening. Since the academy? Or had they started sometime in his five years of exile without friends or family to drown out their voices? Maybe the tipping point was Dedue’s death? Claude had a hard time imagining the self-proclaimed man of Duscur dying in any way other than protecting his liege, which meant that Dimitri likely witnessed yet another death of a loved one up close. It could have easily proven too much after being thrown out of his home.

There were too many questions that still needed to be answered and not enough time. Claude wanted to do this the gentle way. He wanted to reintroduce Dimitri to his classmates and keep him from the battlefield until he healed mentally as well as physically, but war did not wait for the broken. The Alliance needed Dimitri now, not a year from now, and they needed him on the battlefield, not in a healer’s ward. 

Claude was going to have to take risks he could only hope he would be forgiven for when this war was done.

He took two steps into the room and lifted the full goblet of water sitting on the lone table. Reaching into a hidden pocket beneath his cape, Claude pulled out a tiny vial of yellowish liquid and upended it into the cup. He swirled the mixture with a twist of his wrist, holding it aloft towards Dimitri.

“Truth be told, I think living your life by the rules of the dead is a waste. But if that’s what you really want, there’s nothing I can do to stop you,” Claude said, shrugging. “So, as promised, I’m going to help you. All I need you to do is drink this.”

Dimitri was tracking his movements again, his sharp gaze like a skittish monastery cat watching the residents fish and waiting for an opening. “Why should I trust you?”

Claude laughed, “You probably shouldn’t. But you always said you didn’t like to see deceit in every action.”

“The man who believed that is dead,” the prince grumbled. He still hadn’t moved.

“If you say so,” Claude admitted far too easily. Fighting Dimitri as he was now would get him nowhere, no matter how stupid the words from his mouth. Reconciling this husk of a man with the generous yet serious boy Claude knew would have to happen another time. He shook the goblet again as an invitation.

Dimitri’s lips pursed, deepening his frown. “Why do you want to help?”

Cocking his head, Claude considered his answer. If he said something like ‘friendship’ or ‘I’m worried about you’, he suspected Dimitri would clam up even harder. This strange pseudo-consensual self-torture he was engaging in didn’t leave room for others caring about him. He could say it didn’t matter, which might work, but might leave him in the same stalemate they were in now. He could also fabricate a lie and pray Dimitri wasn’t able to work it out until Claude got a better grip on the situation.

Then it hit him: there was one phrase no Blue Lion could resist, not even Felix. If Claude was right, and the Dimitri of five years ago was buried beneath his burdens rather than destroyed, he wouldn’t be able to help himself.

“I need you,” Claude answered simply. “ _ We _ need you.”

That blue eye stormed, and Dimitri swallowed. “I am not the boy you knew. I will use you until the flesh falls from your bones.”

The infamous schemer grinned. “I wouldn’t put it in such ugly words, but I guess that makes two of us.”

He waited for a scathing response that didn’t come. Just when Claude believed Dimitri’s distant, exhausted stare had left him for the company of murderous ghosts once again, the prince stood. The lump of rags and muscle in the corner grew and grew until it reached the height of a normal man and beyond. He towered over Claude, terrifying to behold even with the prominent bag under his eye, scraggly hair, and no furs to broaden his shoulders. Ominous strength and untamed fury challenged the leader of the Alliance to dare step closer.

This couldn’t be any worse than taming a wyvern, right?

Taking the movement as permission, Claude extended the goblet with a faint smile covering his nerves, patiently waiting for the prince to grasp it. After several more seconds of silence, Dimitri swiped it, giving a small grunt. He down the lot in a single swig, much like Manuela taking a drink whenever there were new rumors about the Death Knight’s whereabouts. The prince tossed the empty cup back to the table.

“What now?” Dimitri asked, his voice losing some of its rasp with fresh water to soften his throat.

“Now I recommend you go lay down. This stuff works pretty fast.” Claude gestured towards the bed, resisting the urge to take the other man by the arm and guide him to the mattress himself. He didn’t need Dimitri passing out on his feet. Hauling the heavy man into the bed once unconscious would significantly affect his timetable and possibly throw out his back to boot.

The sound that left Dimitri could have been a laugh. “Poison again, Claude?”

“Not this time, I’m afraid. Just a little something to help you sleep since you seem to need it,” Claude swept his hand towards the bed a second time, grateful when Dimitri skulked towards it of his own accord. “If we’re going to storm Fort Merceus to get to Edelgard, we’ll need you at full strength.”

“Fort Merceus?” Dimitri’s words were already beginning to slur. Maybe Claude had gone a little too heavy on the dosage. He’d have to ask Marianne to monitor his breathing closely once the prince had been snuck back to the infirmary. 

“That’s right, Your Princeliness.” Claude winked as he pulled out the old nickname. “I’m going to take the Stubborn Old General with your help. We’ll talk more when you wake again. Sweet dreams.” Or at least ones without nightmares.

Claude released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding when Dimitri’s eye finally fluttered shut, freeing the leader from its vice-like grip. One month. Claude had one month to stabilize Dimitri, plan an assault on Fort Merceus, and figure out how to keep the prince allied with him for a reason beyond revenge, all under the noses of his closest allies to avoid unforeseen complications. If it turned out somewhere deep down Dimitri was still a selfless idealist who believed in protecting the weak and treating everyone equally, Claude could have the perfect candidate to unify Fodlan and open its borders. If he wasn’t…

It was time to start planning contingencies. Preferably ones that wouldn’t also make an enemy of Faerghus’ resistance.


	4. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle to take Fort Merceus approaches. Claude has to make some minor adjustments to his scheme.

Given the fragility of their current political situation, Claude was pleased to see several weeks pass with only minor incidents. He and the other members of the war council laid out a plan for infiltrating Fort Merceus using some imperial uniforms stolen by Shamir, a small strike force to open the gates for the Alliance army once inside, and a series of high profile targets that would confuse the chain of command. Of course, if even one of those steps failed, they’d be lucky to end up as more than a pile of ash after the Empire was done with them. 

It had made some of their allies restless. Ingrid had been particularly vocal about her unease carrying out such a risky mission, not trusting Claude’s claims that he had insurance but needed more time to prepare it. She wanted proof. He said it wasn’t ready for prying eyes yet. It took the rest of the Alliance delegates vouching for his secretive methods (after filing their own series of complaints) to convince her to leave it for now, though not before she dropped a few choice words about how unprofessional his leadership style was compared to other commanders.

He managed to bite his tongue before he pointed out that her revered “serious” prince had failed to protect his country, his men, and even his own life without Claude’s intervention.

The situation with the prince himself had been a more mixed success. Forced sleep had done him good, eradicating the dark bag under his eye and allowing him to hold short conversations where he almost sounded like royalty again. He didn’t fight Claude’s plan to keep him away from his old house either. Dimitri was content to exist in the dreamlike limbo between Claude’s sessions and the blackness of a mercifully dreamless drugged slumber. He said it was preferable to the waking nightmare of his life.

Unfortunately, Claude had also learned that his insomnia-induced hallucinations weren’t all that was standing between Dimitri and his old self. At the end of the second week, when Dimitri was having a good day where he hadn’t been distracted by vengeful phantoms or their voices, Claude had chanced a question about why Felix always called him a boar back at the academy. He’d thought it a safe subject, expecting some silly childhood story. 

He wasn’t prepared for Dimitri’s sickly laughter as he recounted the gruesome details of the rebellion he’d quelled as a boy. He made it sound as though he was proud of being a monster, fervently describing how he’d enjoyed their suffering and took justice into his own bloody hands. Claude wasn’t fooled. He knew the sound of mirth masking self-loathing too well. 

It would take longer than a month to mold a king from that kind of wreckage, no matter his progress. The realization threw a wrench into Claude’s original plan - to bring a rehabilitated prince into the battle of Fort Merceus, using it to showcase his triumphant return and provide much-needed firepower. Once the world knew the rightful king of Faerghus was alive, there would be no escaping the pressure for him to answer to his people. If Dimitri was still self-destructing at the end of the month, he had a good chance of drowning his loyal servants and the Alliance with him.

There were only two paths for Claude to choose from as the date of the siege approached: To remove Dimitri from the equation altogether, or to get a leash around the beast to make him seem comparatively tamed.

The first wasn’t a real option. Dimitri’s false ‘coma’, broken up by secret rendezvous only Mercedes and Claude knew about, drew more attention from Kingdom soldiers every day the prince went without officially waking. His old friends visited in shifts, murmuring prayers to the Goddess for his return or cursing his name for leaving them this way. Their morale had become bad enough that Hilda had begun feeling personally responsible for cheering up her comrades, a duty she complained to Claude about relentlessly.

“It isn’t only Dimitri,” she whined as she trailed him back towards the dormitory. “Did you know that Gilbert, the old knight that’s always asking about him, is actually Annie’s father? He’s just awful! She spends so much time working, doing calculations for Fort Merceus, cleaning the library, and looking for a way to wake the prince up, I get exhausted just thinking about it, but Gilbert still won’t talk to her. I would be so mad if my brother stopped answering my letters after all the time I have to spend writing them.”

Claude chuckled, making a mental note of yet another connection between his comrades from Faerghus. Sometimes it seemed like everyone was related over there. “Yeah, I’m sure you’d travel back home to give him a piece of your mind if he didn’t write.”

“You bet I would! You can’t disappear from family like that. It’s so selfish, making them worry,” she grumbled, kicking a pebble out of her way.

“So what are you planning to do about Annette?”

Hilda mulled over her options with a manicured finger to her lips. “I don’t think I’d be of much help with her work. I guess I’ll have to take her shopping to help her forget about it. She needs a break, and brooding over that guy isn’t going to help her one bit.” Her smile turned saccharine. “You know Leader Man, Annie’s been working  _ awfully _ hard. You could take it a little easier on us, too…”

“You take it plenty easy without my help Hilda,” Claude shot back. He opened his mouth to say something else, but the evening monastery bells interrupted. “Ah, that’s my cue. Sorry, we’ll have to talk later. No rest for the wicked.”

His path veered off from her own sharply, heading towards the cathedral rather than the stairs. Hilda was left behind, staring at his back and shaking her head. 

“Did he just call me wicked? How rude,” she huffed.

Claude arrived at the secret meeting room right on time, or as time as he could be in a building filled with people who wanted a piece of his attention. Mercedes was waiting for him on the rampart. 

“He’s ready for you,” she said, smiling.

“Did something happen? You look even happier than usual today.”

Mercedes hummed, “Do I? I guess it’s that he thanked me for the food when he woke up. It may not seem like much, but it reminded me of five years ago when he would speak so kindly to anyone who did something for him.”

“That sounds like an awful lot to me,” Claude refuted, hand on his hip. “In the grand scheme of things, those small victories are just as important as the big ones.”

Mercedes’ hands swung behind her back, and she looked up at the empty sky. Her smile faded to something sad and longing. “I guess you’re right. That’s what you’ve been hoping for too, right? To save everyone the heartbreak of seeing the cruel way he’s been acting lately. They deserve the kind man you knew him as.”

Now that was the sound of a woman warring with her demons if Claude had ever heard it. He didn’t know much of Mercedes outside of her reputation as a good listener and holy woman. But from what he’d learned by befriending her compatriots, no one got that obsessed with helping others without a tragic reason.

“...we aren’t talking about Dimitri anymore, are we?” he asked, ever curious.

Mercedes didn’t appear to notice he’d sidestepped her question about his motives. She shook her head, clearing away what depressing cobwebs lingered. “It’s nothing important. You’d best get going. I don’t think being alone is good for him.”

Claude wanted to ask more, but she was right. His prying could wait until he’d dealt with the Dimitri situation. Her past wasn’t going anywhere.

Offering a breezy thanks, Claude left her to return to her prayers. He had his own task to complete tonight. The door to Dimitri’s makeshift room swung open silently after its recent greasing.

“Hello, Claude,” a warm baritone greeted when it clicked shut behind him. “What do you intend to subject me to tonight?”

“Already believing my intentions are so impure? I’m wounded,” Claude joked, holding a scandalized hand to his chest.

Dimitri's lips didn’t so much as twitch. Claude’s humor dimmed in response; he missed how easy it had been to make him smile back when they were both house leaders.

“Do not misunderstand our arrangement,” Dimitri growled. “You’re using me to fight a war. I am using you to feel the crunch of Edelgard’s bones in my bloody fist.”

Claude laughed, “Oh, don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. But surely you realize torturing an ally doesn’t get me anything.”

“Is that so? You could have fooled me,” Dimitri grumbled. Now that sounded like the old prince. 

“Asking someone about themselves isn’t technically torture by any definition I’ve ever read,” Claude reminded him. He waltzed across the small space to take a seat next to Dimitri on the bed, careful not to let their shoulders touch.

The prince snorted, but he didn’t comment. Apparently, a battle of wits was still too much to ask in his current state. A pity; Claude needed a king who could hold his own in arguments of law, ethics, and politics. He also enjoyed a good verbal spar, and Dimitri had been one of the few who could manage it for more than a few seconds back at the academy. 

As much as Claude loved his house, most of them had no desire to test his cleverness or couldn’t hope to outflank him. Dimitri and Edelgard, on the other hand, had been the future heads of Fodlan’s major political powers for a reason.

When it became clear Dimitri wasn’t intending to say anything else, Claude cleared his throat, “In any case, I’ve got a special treat for you today.” 

Dimitri’s defensiveness was immediate. “False kindness is wasted on a dead man.”

“Oh come now, Your Princeliness, I haven’t even told you the surprise yet!” Claude chortled, punching Dimitri gently in the arm. The prince glared but didn’t break his wrist in two, so Claude counted it as a victory. “I’m letting you pick up a spear tonight.”

Was that panic in his eye? Fear? Or bloodlust? Whatever it was, Dimitri’s pupil dilated in the dim light until there was only a sliver of ice rimming the edge.

“Don’t worry, I’m not holding my breath for a thank you,” Claude muttered, all too aware of how close he was sitting next to a man whose hands clenched at nothing as he dreamed of holding a weapon again.

Dimitri’s voice had warped far from his princely persona when he spoke again, “Who must I kill?”

“You think I’d use you as an assassin? You wound me, Dimitri. I have far more capable men than you for jobs like that.” Claude favored him with an inscrutable wink. 

“Then what?”

“We’re going to be training.”

“Training…?”

Claude shrugged, laughing. “You didn’t think I’d trust someone who hasn’t held a weapon in a month to be the lynchpin of my plan to take Fort Merceus, did you?” His eyes hardened to emerald as he grinned. “I told you before, I need you at your best. I’m here to make sure that happens...one way or another.” 


	5. Training and Testing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude leads Dimitri to the training grounds for a spar. Their contest gets predictably out of hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to take a moment to thank all the wonderful readers who've left me kudos and comments. This story is a big, intimidating one to write, and hearing your support makes a world of difference in keeping my motivation up. I'm sorry that I haven't gotten to responding to all the comments in the last chapter yet. I do love them, and I hope to catch up on replies soon to show you how much I appreciate you taking the time to let me know what you think! 
> 
> In the meantime hope this new chapter helps make up for it - it's a meaty one.

Sneaking an infamous man who was supposed to be in a coma over to the training grounds was no easy feat. The route may not have been long, but there was only one bridge between the cathedral and the rest of the grounds, and that bridge had guards posted at every hour. If Dimitri walked across with Claude, even in disguise, rumors would be sure to follow.

It was lucky Claude had a way with wyverns.

Dimitri, on the other hand, was as wary of the lizards as they were of him. He’d donned the borrowed armor Claude offered without complaint but his cooperativeness stalled when the wyvern-rider whistled and two brown beasts soared down to perch on the parapet outside. Claude hopped into the saddle of one, waving for Dimitri to take the other.

Dimitri glared at it. Two unfeeling, yellow eyes stared back. They didn’t have time for this. Claude held the wyvern’s reins for him, coaxing Dimitri into the saddle by promising that flying in the sky wasn’t so different from riding a horse. It was mostly true, and Dimitri had always been fond of horses, even if he hadn’t ridden since his exile.

Thankfully, once both men were mounted, their ruse as the evening sky patrol didn’t take long. A quick wing over the gap and they arrived at the edge of the training grounds.

“This way,” Claude instructed when his feet hit solid ground. He waved off the pair of wyverns, heading for a back door that would take them to the arena through a series of stone passages that wove beneath the grounds. 

If Dimitri was curious where they were going, he gave no indication. His heavy footsteps melded with Claude’s lighter ones as the pair trudged down a flight of stairs and through winding, muggy stone with only the light of a torch grabbed at the entrance to guide their way. Not far from the exit, Claude stopped to unlock a small door by his right hip. The panel slid out of the way, revealing a crawl space filled to the brim with training weapons.

Claude pointed at the lot with his torch. “For you.”

“Where is Areadbhar?”

“Safe,” Claude assured. “But I figured it would put a damper on my plan if you accidentally lopped my head off with it during practice, so I bought these with my own coin instead. Try not to snap them too quickly. I’m not as rich as I look.”

“I doubt the leader of the Alliance is hurting for coin,” Dimitri said, his eye roving the luxurious golden pauldron and expensive fabrics Claude wore every time they had met.

“Oh, this? This is just for appearances.” Claude smirked and gave his cape an extravagant flip. “You think his aristocratic nobleness Lorenz would follow anyone who wasn’t wearing something as pretentious as he is? As an outsider, it’s important to dress the part if you want people to listen to you. Not all of us can pull off ‘crazed mountain man’ and still be taken seriously.”

Dimitri didn’t rise to the barb, bending down to seize three polearms while mumbling, “You’ve always worn extravagant clothing.”

“I didn’t realize you were jealous of my looks at the academy. I would have shared my secrets if you asked nicely.”

“Not unless I traded my own secrets for it,” Dimitri countered. He backed away from the clandestine weapon storage, waiting for Claude to take something for himself.

No denial that he coveted Claude’s sense of fashion all those years ago? Ironic, considering Claude added a longer cape to his current outfit because of how strongly he associated it with nobility due to Dimitri’s influence. Not that Claude cared so much about being a noble, but there were a lot of important people in Fodlan who only respected a name like von Riegan if it came attached to an equally aristocratic-looking man. It was hard to get more straightlaced and regal than the crown prince, though Ferdinand and Lorenz had tried their hardest.

Reaching into the hole for a sparring weapon, Claude settled on a medium-weight sword. He’d been trying to get more practice with hand-to-hand combat lately and wasn’t suicidal enough to face off with Dimitri in a battle of lances.

“No.”

Claude jumped at the prince’s voice, nearly banging his head on the low ceiling. He shot Dimitri a confused glance.

“No sword,” Dimitri clarified. “A bow.”

“Bows aren’t the best option for one-on-one training,” Claude warned, though he was already hunting through the pile for the short bow and quiver of arrows he’d hidden away. He could feel the intensity of Dimitri’s eye boring into his back while he searched. Better not to push his luck taking too long, even if the prince seemed unusually lucid tonight.

“Not for _ Fodlan _ archers,” Dimitri murmured so softly that it was buried beneath the clatter of weapons.

Claude yanked out the bow at last with a triumphant cry. He bent it on a knee, stringing it up and testing the pull. “Did you say something?”

“Let’s go,” Dimitri replied tersely. He pointed towards the exit to the main arena with two lances gripped in one hand.

“You're eager tonight,” Claude laughed, opening the door and strolling out toward the open grounds. “Maybe I should ask for a thank you after...Dimitri…?”

The prince’s steps had halted behind him, only a couple paces into the shadows of the arena’s overhang. His eye fixed on something in the distance, gazing out into the moonlit space beyond the pillars. For a moment, Claude assumed it was as he feared - an echo of the time spent here with Edelgard and practicing war was enough to remind Dimitri of the vows he had sworn to avenge the dead, calling forth hallucinations which had been dimming to mere intrusive voices with the help of a controlled environment. Claude prepared to turn back and write off this experiment as a failure.

Then he heard something from the same direction Dimitri was staring. A rhythmic thunking. The sounds of a training dummy being put through its paces.

The blood drained from Claude’s face, grateful for the prince’s mesmerized state while his brain scrambled to piece together what was happening. He’d purposefully made sure the training arena would be clear tonight.

None of the knights ever trained at this hour, at least not in the arena. It also couldn’t be any of his housemates; the only one who ever trained this late was Raphael, and he had an extra special supper waiting for him in his room tonight, courtesy of Claude. The old Blue Lions had been trickier to manage, what with Kingdom nobles taking up combat before learning to read, but Claude had contingencies for them as well. Felix would be dealing with a little stomach bug after dinner that would tire him out but leave him fine come morning, and he told one of the lovely ladies at the market about the son of Gautier looking for a new girlfriend, so that should have occupied Sylvain and Ingrid for the night. Annette was being sought out by Hilda about now for some forced relaxation while Mercedes finished her evening prayers. Who did that leave?

A muffled curse, harsh words grating against the mild voice that spoke them jogged Claude’s memory. How could he have forgotten the lion cub who’d only recently rejoined his pride?

“Stay here. I’ll take care of this,” the archer hissed towards Dimitri. He gave no sign of hearing, but he didn’t try to follow Claude either. That was all that mattered; as long as the prince stayed in the shadow of the overhang, their unexpected guest would be unlikely to notice him.

Claude rounded the corner of a pillar to find Ashe in the middle of plucking arrows from a training dummy, pressing on the tips of his fingers with a grimace.

“You know, even gloves can’t do anything about the bruising if you shoot too much,” Claude called out. He circled counter from where they’d entered, luring Ashe’s attention in a safer direction.

The silver-haired man laughed sheepishly, releasing his sore hand. He returned to dislodging his arrows. Now that he was closer, Claude could see their spread was far below Ashe’s usual standard.

“Ah...sorry, Claude. I didn’t realize you’d be here this late. I won’t stay in your way if you want to practice,” he mumbled, pale complexion only highlighting his embarrassment at being caught performing poorly by a master archer.

“You look like you’ve been hard at work for a while,” Claude observed, ignoring Ashe’s nerves with a quirk of his lips. “Something going on I should be aware of?”

The widening blush made his freckles more pronounced. “Oh no, no, nothing important enough to bother you.”

“It’s important enough if you’re hurting yourself training,” Claude chastised. “You shouldn’t push yourself so hard. You don’t have to worry about being like me or Leonie if that’s what’s got you in a tizzy. Comparing yourself is a waste of energy. I spared you because of who _ you _ are, Ashe.”

“Oh...um...that’s very kind of you, sir,” Claude didn’t think he’d ever get used to being called ‘sir’, “...but that’s not why I’m practicing so much. Not that I don’t want to perform as well as I can for you.”

“Then what’s on your mind?”

Ashe dropped his gaze like a guilty schoolchild caught sneaking an extra helping of sweets. “...I’m worried about His Highness. I need to make sure I’m someone he can be proud of when he wakes.”

A footstep echoed through the training grounds that didn’t belong to Ashe or Claude. Dimitri. Had the earnest affection in Ashe’s voice touched something in the prince’s mangled psyche?

The Alliance leader's eyes stayed far from where he suspected Dimitri was lurking, though his curiosity about what reaction Ashe’s words had inspired almost overpowered his caution. Ashe, on the other hand, whipped his head around wildly, trying to find the source of the sound.

“What was that?” he whispered.

“Hm...I’m not sure. I didn’t see anyone else when I came in,” Claude drawled, idly flipping an arrow back and forth. “I guess maybe it’s the ghosts?”

Shoving his own arrows into the quiver slung around his waist at an urgent pace, Ashe pled, “You shouldn’t joke about that kind of thing.”

Claude shrugged. “I’m only speculating. I wouldn’t worry about it too much. You’re in more danger from injured fingertips than whatever a ghost could do to you.”

“...of course, you’re right. I’m being childish.” That didn’t stop Ashe from surreptitiously eying the shadows again, or his teeth from worrying his lower lip. “Anyway, I don’t usually stay out this late. I was planning to head back after that last volley. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure thing. Have a good night, Ashe! Take care of those fingers, and I’ll keep the ghosts busy for you!” Claude waved at the retreating archer. To his credit, the silver-haired man didn’t run out of the arena, though he did trot like a sheep with dogs nipping at his heels. Claude waited for the sound of Ashe’s boots to disappear for a full minute before he called out for Dimitri to join him. The prince silently complied, wincing and lifting his hand as the light of the moon cut into his vision.

“I didn’t expect you to blow our cover. What happened?” Claude asked, more curious than accusatory.

No answer. Dimitri was still staring in the direction Ashe had left, a dark, chaotic ocean in his eye. As much as Claude wanted to know what was going through his head, they were already far behind schedule tonight. Unless he could break Dimitri’s attention from wherever it was, and do it right now, they wouldn’t finish this session in time.

Claude grimaced as he placed a nock to his string. Why did the most effective methods always have to be the riskiest?

The arrow plummeted from the sky before it hit its target, followed by the sickening crack of wood in a startled, too-strong grip. Dimitri tossed his useless weapon aside, looking for a moment he might lunge bare-handed. He kneeled to pick up a backup lance instead. That hungry wolf’s eye was seeing again, unmistakably locked on Claude’s throat.

“Good to know you haven’t completely lost your head. Would be anti-climatic if I went through all this trouble, only for you to die to the first volley of arrows at Fort Merceus because you weren’t paying attention,” Claude joked. He spread his weight more evenly on his toes, ready for the inevitable counterattack. Dimitri had always been much faster than he looked.

It came like a lightning flash, precise and without warning. Claude ducked beneath the pole, shoving it from his path with a hip as he tried to get the distance he needed for a shot. He only managed to pull to half-draw before Dimitri slammed the spear down, knocking Claude off balance. The arrow pinged uselessly off of the prince’s armor as the archer scrambled to retreat out of range from his opponent’s long arms and longer weapon.

“Man, that really smarts. Killing allies in training is typically frowned upon, in case you’ve forgotten.” Claude rubbed at his side where Dimitri had nearly broken yet another lance on him. He knew there would be bruises after today (how could there not be with Dimitri’s infernal strength and tenuous sanity?), but Claude had thought it would take longer than a minute to get his first.

The slightest smile drew Dimitri’s lips apart. Claude gripped his bow tighter to repress a shudder of revulsion. That wasn’t happiness on the prince’s face, it was addiction.

“You’re the one who called a monster to fight,” Dimitri snarled. 

He lashed out again. Claude was ready for him this time, flipping neatly out of the way as he loosed an arrow that forced the prince to retreat.

“Is that what you want? To be a monster?” Claude fired another shot, easily deflected by the prince.

Dimitri growled and whirled on his toes, closing the gap between them with another vicious slash. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

“What a load of crock!” Force to sidestep the blow, Claude lashed out with a foot. Dimitri crashed to a knee. He didn’t give the archer time to capitalize on the mistake, swinging his lance back the other way with such force Claude was forced to back off or suffer broken kneecaps to match his bruise. “If what you wanted didn’t matter, you’d be king. That’s what everyone else wants from you. Or did you think Ashe was talking about someone else when he said he’s worried about ‘His Highness’?”

Dimitri stumbled to his feet, hair clinging to his brow as sweat began to pool. “I can’t do that. I have a duty to the dead.”

“And what about the living?” Claude threw back.

Dimitri didn’t answer. Long, shuddering breaths hid the quiver of a body aching to tear into Claude’s, waiting for a better opening.

“You want to know what I think?” the archer goaded, hoping the fire he was using to illuminate the truth wouldn’t burn the whole monastery down. “I think if you were a real monster, you wouldn’t have avoided the Alliance troops on the way to Gronder. I think you _ want _ to be a monster. A monster doesn’t have to regret. But you’re only human, Dimitri. You regret everything. Every soldier at your feet. Every officer you’ve tortured. Every loved one you couldn’t save. The catharsis of tearing into your enemies can’t stop your compassion from choking you. You care too damn much, and it’s destroying you.”

Dimitri’s lance tip jabbed violently at Claude, coming nowhere near its mark. “Stop talking like I’m still that boy. I already told you, he’s dead!”

“That’s what you’re really after, isn’t it? For someone to take your head.”

“It’s what I deserve!” Dimitri roared, taking another wild stab. “My death will finally end it!”

“No, it won’t!” Claude hadn’t intended to raise his voice. Once he started, he couldn’t rein it back in. “Your dying will only cause more to die! Do you realize what’s become of Faerghus after you were ‘executed’? Your people are dying, forgotten, in the streets. Persecution of Duscur runs rampant without you to stem its flow. The knights still loyal to the crown throw their lives away in a mad quest to avenge the royal family. Every last one of those people needs you alive.”

Claude stomped down on a low swing of the lance, forcing the prince’s shoulders to bow.

“I have no intention of letting you die, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. I told you before: we need you. So unless you think you can outfox me, you’d better start finding options other than death to make things right.” He ground his heel down. “I’m. Not. Budging.”

Claude knew it was coming, but nothing could have prepared him for the anguished scream that tore from Dimitri’s throat. His world flipped upside down as the prince wrenched the spear beneath his feet up. The pole snapped. Dimitri didn’t care, backhanding Claude with the stub of a weapon as it broke a second time on his body, throwing him against a pillar.

Claude continued to glare defiantly at him, though it was harder when every desperate breath burned. That impact had been a doozy.

He was so focused on remembering how to breathe, he didn’t notice the loosened stone above him beginning to crumble. Dimitri charged and Claude ducked, expecting a fist to the face. The fist landed somewhere above him with Dimitri’s strained grunt. A boulder crashed to Claude’s side, exploding into a serious of pebbles and dust. 

Claude sputtered, spitting out the flecks that flew into his mouth. His eyes flickered between the remains of the stone, the precipice they’d fallen from above his head, and Dimitri who was bent over him, forearms resting against the pillar.

“You saved me,” Claude said dumbly.

Dimitri sunk to the ground next to him. His head fell into his hands. “...I didn’t want you haunting me, too.”

Claude’s rattled nerves almost convinced him to make a tasteless joke about how that was a good choice because he’d be the most annoying ghost Dimitri had ever met. The prince’s fingertips raking at his temples stayed Claude’s tongue. He’d strained Dimitri enough for tonight.

“Come on. Let’s get some vulneraries and take you back,” Claude mumbled. He leaned his full weight on the pillar to help regain his footing and held out a hand for his partner. “You look like you could use a good day’s sleep.”

Dimitri didn’t respond. He sat there, clawing at his throbbing head until Claude gave up and called the wyverns into the training grounds directly. Once present, he willingly followed Claude’s orders to get into the saddle again. He followed every order for the rest of the night, in fact, from changing back into his medical ward clothing to downing the sleeping draught, all without saying another word.

As Dimitri succumbed to a dreamless slumber, Claude held his side that still howled even with the help of medicine. There was nothing left to do but wait and see if the prince was strong enough to process Claude’s words. 

Claude almost wished he was a pious man. Maybe he’d ask Marianne to say an extra prayer for him tomorrow.


	6. Birth of a Great Lord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The siege on Fort Merceus is at hand. Claude finishes his preparations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A super quick update because this chapter is more filler/fluff/transition than actual plot. It just felt like it had a natural end before the big battle where everything gets kicked into motion.
> 
> Also, as a heads up for those who asked about romance: this chapter has a bit of ship-teasing near the end if you squint.

As the day of the siege approached, apprehension rippled through the ranks. Claude was grateful for it. Hearts worried about fighting outnumbered in an enemy fortress wouldn’t have the energy to waste on figuring out their tactician’s strange behavior. The soldiers were so distracted by the idea of penetrating an impregnable fortress, Claude was able to brush off the damage to the training grounds, his wounds, and the muffled shouts from his training session with Dimitri as a new drill with his wyvern gone awry. He claimed that his foot had gotten stuck in a stirrup during a trick shot, pulling his steed off course and slamming his back into one of the pillars. All of it was nothing more than a mistake by an overambitious rider.

Claude would have been insulted by how readily everyone believed that story if it wasn’t critical to his plans. A few hours of scolding from his peers for his recklessness was far preferable to them snooping into his business. It didn’t hurt that Ashe corroborated his tall tale, using that sweet, earnest disposition to say he ran into Claude at the training ground late at night and saw a wyvern flying overhead while he was walking back to his room.

The glint in his eyes when they met Claude’s suggested he didn’t completely believe what he was saying. He was choosing to trust in his leader. They didn’t speak of it further, but Claude flashed him a grateful smile.

When the day to march on Fort Merceus finally arrived, Claude encouraged the army to leave without him, citing the need to prepare one last surprise for their enemies. Byleth and the Knights of Seiros would lead the false Alliance attack since they were the most easily recognized by the Empire. It would make their assault on the ‘Imperial’ faction, played by his other trusted commanders, more believable, and the Fort more likely to open their gates to protect their own. It also had the added benefit of keeping Manuela outside the fort. Shamir had collected intelligence that the Death Knight was currently in charge of the Stubborn Old General, and Claude didn’t trust the busty professor to act wisely while revenge was on the table. 

As for Claude, he slipped away before they moved out. If they saw him, someone like Ingrid or Lorenz was sure to drag him away from his plan to join the rest of the troops, or worse, demand to help with the final preparations. Thankfully, he could count on their sense of duty to keep them from dallying too long. They cursed his name, of course, calling him a coward and a poor excuse for a leader, but they disappeared with the rest of the army when the time came.

That left only Claude, the monastery staff, and the sleeping prince behind.

Ushering the healers out of Dimitri’s private room with a smile and half-baked excuse that he wanted to beseech the prince for courage before he left, Claude took a seat at Dimitri’s bedside. Reaching into his satchel, he pulled out a sprig of yellow flowers with a long, stiff stem. He plucked off the leaves, smashing them in his gloves to a paste-like texture, then forced it into Dimitri’s mouth under his tongue.

“Come on…” Claude muttered to himself, holding the prince’s jaw open in one hand and shoving the plant matter in with two fingers from the other. Teeth ground against the intrusion. Claude’s hand snapped back with a quiet curse; he’d have to treat Mercedes to a nice dinner for putting up with this almost every day.

The effect was as quick as Claude had read about in the herbology books he’d stolen from the library. Dimitri hacked and convulsed as his body tried to spit out the offending substance, lurching to a sitting position between wheezes.

“Is this what it’s always like? Ugh, the book didn’t say it would be so gross.” One more harsh cough and a glob of green smacked Claude in the sash. “Alright, I may have deserved that,” he grumbled, flicking the crushed leaf and saliva mixture away. At least any stains wouldn’t show on his verdant fabric choices.

“Where am I…?” Dimitri mumbled. His eye frantically searched the room while his chest rattled, remembering how to breathe.

“Your private room at the infirmary. Princes get pretty swanky treatment compared to the rest of us. It’s where you’ve been for most of the past month, actually,” Claude explained. He was hunting through his satchel again while he spoke. “Remember talking about Fort Merceus the last few weeks? Well...more like I talked, and you stared at me like you wanted my head on a pike.” A pleased noise burst from Claude’s lips as he finally whipped out a rusted key. “Today’s the day.”

The prince’s eye closed. “I hunt the Empire.”

Claude couldn’t place Dimitri’s tone. It wasn’t the blood-crazed mania from a month ago, but it wasn’t the earnest ‘I’ll lend you my strength for the prosperity of Fodlan’ he’d have expected from the prince’s younger self either. He sounded resigned, in part - something that had become increasingly common since their training excursion. The other part was almost confused, as though he could barely piece together what he thought about it either.

Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to force a war between the avenger of the dead and servant to the living that resided inside Dimitri before a critical battle. If he froze up once they got out there, they could all wind up dead or worse. Had this truly been Claude’s only hand to play against Edelgard?

It didn’t matter anymore. This was the hand he bet it all on. Claude wasn’t much for faith, not in the Goddess or other people, but if he was forced to trust someone, he was glad it was Dimitri. 

(Or maybe he would have been glad were it that steadfast boy of his youth sitting in front of him and not a man who’d spent the past five years living alone and popping imperial commanders’ skulls in his hands like bird eggs.)

“Exactly. I’m making good on my end of the bargain today. You come with me, and you can kill as many imperials as you want. With one  _ teensy _ caveat,” Claude said. The key he held slotted into the long chest in the back corner of Dimitri’s room.

A frigid eye opened to glare at him. “I grow impatient with your schemes and caveats, Claude.”

“I promise, it’s nothing bad. Compared to my usual ones, anyway,” Claude replied, rooting around inside the chest. He turned to face the prince with arms full of blue, white, and black, extravagant furs and fitted plate. “I want you to wear this.”

Dimitri’s hand pawed at the air in wonder, his eye wide. “Where did you get that…?”

“So you  _ can _ still appreciate nice things. I suppose I should have guessed that when I caught you admiring my look the other day,” Claude teased. He placed the garments in Dimitri’s arms. “Anyway, it’s a gift from your subjects. They didn’t want their king wearing that grubby, matted thing we found you in, so they made something more appropriate for when you woke up. Go on. Try it on.”

Dimitri moved with the graceless awe of a street urchin being offered a free meal, rushing to enjoy the gift one moment and stupified by it into inaction the next. His hands shook so intensely, Claude had to step in to help with his bracers. Dimitri didn’t try to throw the other man off, just stared at the stark white expanses of armor that had never seen the battlefield. He threw the cloak over his shoulders last, the makeshift lion’s mane comfortable over his shoulders and furred hem sweeping barely above the ground.

“It fits well,” Dimitri commented. He flexed his elbows and knees to test his range of motion in the new armor.

“I’ll say...” Claude mumbed, chased by an embarrassed laugh. 

He hadn’t intended to stare, but it was remarkable what a change of clothes could do for a man. If appearances were all it took to be a king, Claude was sure all of Fodlan would bend a knee to Dimitri like this. Of course, he didn’t look anything like the image of a perfectly coifed Fodlan noble Claude had grown accustomed to and tried to emulate since traveling here. He was fearsome. Huge and wild, while still regal and commanding. Dimitri looked like the kind of man who could get into a scrap with a demonic beast and come out the other side with a week’s supply of meat for his people.

Claude blamed his Almyran blood for his appreciation of the idea, clearing his throat to continue, “I mean, it’s all a bit much for me. But the whole warrior king look is a good one for you. All you need is this.”

He drew Areadbhar from storage, holding it out for Dimitri. As the prince’s hand wrapped around the familiar hilt, a cold fire lit anew in his eye.

“Show me to our enemies. They will all burn in the eternal flames.”


	7. Fort Merceus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The siege of Fort Merceus finally begins. Claude finds more surprises than just his own there.

For all the times Claude had run from battle or laid in wait for an enemy, he’d never before experienced a knot of anticipation so thick that it felt like he’d swallowed his saddle whole. The siege had begun without him, right on time. As he perched in the treeline off the east side of Fort Merceus, Claude kept one eye on the progress of his army’s ruse and the other on the cloaked figure standing stock-still beneath him, spear clenched in his fist.

Dimitri hadn’t lost his mind at the sight of imperial banners, so that was one hurdle overcome. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean his behavior was everything Claude hoped for. If he strained his ears he could hear angry muttering mixed with the clangs and shouts of distant battle. The prince was arguing with someone. Someone that wasn’t there.

On the bright side, quarreling with the voices in his head was better than him letting them tell him to rush in headfirst to slaughter imperial soldiers.

It wouldn’t be much longer until blood was spilled regardless. Panicked shrieks to retreat and the rhythmic thunking of gears opening the main gate echoed across the surrounding forest. The main strike force led by Lorenz, feigning allegiance to his father’s ideals, would be within Fort Merceus’ walls within minutes. It hadn’t been Claude’s first choice, but giving Lorenz a role as a leading man was preferable to him charging off for personal glory on his own. All he had to do was use his talent for noble bluster to keep the guards occupied long enough for Ashe to break into the gate control rooms and release the winches. Once the gates fell, they could rush in, pincering the Empire’s defense between a battalion of elite soldiers with the element of surprise and the two most deadly leaders at the Alliance’s disposal, all while the academy professors and Knights of Seiros stalled further reinforcements in the field.

The passing seconds pulsed in Claude’s throat. He knew they could pull it off. He believed in his friends. He trusted his own calculations. If Dimitri could be patient, then he could manage that much, even if his entire body felt like an overstrung bow.

The gate’s thunderous crash to earth came not a moment too soon.

“That’s our cue!” Claude shouted, his steed taking wing as he raised the Failnaught. “And remember - you’re not allowed to die out there, Dimitri!”

The prince didn’t call back; he was too busy slicing through the startled gate guards. He didn’t bother dropping into a battle stance as he crashed into Fort Merceus’s main courtyard. Imperial armor shredded before Areadbhar like flesh beneath a lion’s claws, and mages who raised their hands to cast at the advancing prince from a distance found an arrow cutting off the air they needed to chant. Barked orders to ready the ballistae pounded at Claude’s ears as he tapped his steed’s shoulder, warning her about the bolts aimed at her wings.

He needn’t have worried.

“I’ll destroy you!” roared Dimitri, advanced far afield. He tore a javelin from the corpse of another eviscerated imperial soldier, kicking the dead woman away to shake her grip loose.

Claude had never seen the man throw with his full strength before. The dreadful grunt he let loose was nothing compared to how the weapon flew true across the canal, striking the ballista operator so hard it slid clear through his body, pinning him to the ground like a grotesque statue and rendering his weapon useless

That caught the attention of their friends fighting on the other side of the fortress, though they could barely see one another over the chaos of battle.

“Is that…”

“His Highness! He’s…!”

“Hmph. The boar’s at it again.”

“You have some explaining to do, Claude!” That last one was unmistakably Ingrid, though her tirade was cut off by a close call with a ballista on their side of the fortress.

“I told you I had something else up my sleeve!” Claude shouted back. He dove towards the center of the battle, swooping into a pair of cavalry and letting his wyvern unhorse one while he took a point-blank shot at the other. “We’ll take care of everything over here. Find the enemy commander!”

“We already did! He’s over there,” Hilda hollered at him, yanking her axe from the back of an imperial knight and pointing, “but we can’t get near him!” 

Claude followed her finger. Like something from Faerghus’ nightmarish folk tales of fallen knights turned to demons, the Death Knight observed the carnage from atop his black, horned steed. Or at least, that’s how it appeared - since his skull helm glowed red where his eyes should be, Claude could only assume what he was looking at. Flanked by Edelgard’s twisted creations and the ominous glow of a fire orb at the north end of the fort, their old fencing instructor seemed confident in his safety. He hardly reacted to the steady march of the Alliance towards his location.

Why was he so calm? Were there more reinforcements Claude hadn’t accounted for?

“Keep pushing through! We’ll try from the other side,” Claude hissed. He urged his wyvern back towards the east end of the fort, her tail singed by a lightning bolt’s near-miss. 

Dimitri had done a remarkable job of breaking the men in his path in the meantime. His new lordly armor, once half-white, had been doused red by the blood of those he stepped over in his march towards the Death Knight. Claude might not have considered the prince’s heart that of a monster, but it was impossible to deny the monstrous destruction in Dimitri’s wake. Having cleared a path, he stared down a demonic beast, their snarls mirrors of each other.

“Dimitri!” Claude greeted as he pulled astride the prince again. A poor choice, as the beast twisted its massive head in his direction. He nocked another arrow, ready for it to snap.

To his surprise, Dimitri answered, his voice a rugged reflection of the carnage he had caused, “What needs done?”

Claude’s response was cut off by the beast’s lunge. He slipped to the side of the hungry maw just in time, driving an arrow straight into its neck. Not a lethal shot, but enough to weaken it.

“The commander is up the stairs behind this thing,” Claude replied, gesturing with his bow. “I need you to distract it, so I can get up there and finish this.”

“Very well,” Dimitri muttered. A flash of his arm and his relic sunk deep into the beast’s hide. It wailed as it stumbled, focusing all of its attention back on the warrior prince. His keen eye gleamed as it met Claude’s. “Kill the imperial dog who stands between me and Edelgard.” 

There wasn’t time to analyze the rush of adrenaline that suddenly kicked in, driving Claude past the massive monster tangling with Dimitri. It was often like this in the heat of battle. He couldn’t say he loved combat like the Amalyrans he grew up with, but there was enough of their blood and culture in him to get his heart racing as he skimmed across stone, his body moving as one with his wyvern’s wingbeats. A cocksure grin, sharp and wicked as his arrows, cracked his face as he laid eyes on his target. His fingertips slipped over the string, elbow raising in preparation of the shot that would end this.

The death knight’s distorted voice stalled his hand, “The time is ripe.”

“What?” Claude muttered under his breath. 

He should have fired first. The air around him crackled as magic build up clung to his skin - a sure sign whoever was manning the fire orb had found him. The Death Knight flicked his reins, his horse wheeling around as if to leave.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Claude urged his steed to burst forth, ignoring the tingling in his arms as he fired a pair of rapid arrows. He saw the glowing missiles pierce the Death Knight’s armor. 

Suddenly, his right side exploded in pain. He and his wyvern crash-landed against the unyielding stone floor.

“Claude! Hang on, I’m coming!” A female voice yelled nearby. Claude’s head hurt too much to recognize who it was. A sensation of pressure was followed by an awful itch as healing magic forced his blistered skin to mend rapidly.

He grimaced and forced an eye open. “Mercedes…? It’s not safe here. The Death Knight…”

“Hush. You need healing,” she soothed, seemingly unaffected by the battle still raging around them. She stared off at nothing while she worked. Claude was about to comment about it, remind her to keep her wits about her since that fire orb was likely readying another charge, but then he noticed it wasn’t nothing she was staring at.

It was the Death Knight. And he was staring back, heaving grating breaths with arrows still protruding from his armor.

“...it’s you,” he rasped.

Mercedes removed her hands from Claude and the archer struggled to his knees. Her voice trembled like a weeping songbird, “Emile...You don’t have to do this. Please.”

Another long pause. Soldiers continued to clamor and fall around them.

“Leave now, or all of you will die,” the Death Knight warned. His horse turned away from them, following the commands of its barely conscious rider. “This is the last kindness I’ll show you. The next time we meet, you die by my hand.”

Then, he galloped straight off the edge of the fort in what was, by far, the oddest tactical retreat Claude had ever seen. 

“What was he talking abo...Mercedes…?” Claude’s confusion became concern when he turned to face his savior and saw the tears streaking down her face.

She dabbed at her eyes and took his hand, dragging him to standing. Her head shook to clear the emotion. “We need to leave. He wouldn’t say that if he didn’t mean it.”

Claude had a million questions for her. How well did she know Jeritza? Were they secret lovers back at the academy? Why would he go so far to protect her? And did she call him ‘Emile’?

The questions all died in his throat when a glint of something caught his eye overhead. That looked like...a giant glowing arrow?

“Alright, move now, ask later,” he agreed, scrambling onto the back of his wyvern and hauling Mercedes up behind him. It was tight, but now was no time to be picky. He raised his bow, screaming loud enough to be heard above the din of metal and magic, “Alliance! Everyone, out of the fort, now! That’s an order!”

He spurred his wyvern after the Death Knight and a few imperial soldiers who had followed behind him, though they showed no signs of turning back to reclaim the fort. Alliance soldiers poured out of the building like ants scurrying from a flood, steeds of all sorts carrying their riders and those who needed a swifter way to escape. The sky rippled in sinister waves of light, drawing closer at an alarming rate.

Too late, Claude realized his mistake. Dimitri had been on the east side of the fort, alone. Even if he heeded the order, there was no way he would make it clear of whatever this thing was on foot.

His cry of the prince’s name was drowned out by a deafening explosion. Stone turned to dust in a flash of light, the earth threatening to open beneath his feet with its quaking. Where the Stubborn Old General had stood for generations, filled with soldiers and weapons and life, now stood nothing but a pile a rubble. The whole structure simply ceased to exist.

The rest of their army still in shock from the fort’s annihilation, Claude surged towards the remains of the eastern wall, frantically calling out for help, “Search for survivors! Get everyone away from here!”

“...we’ll find him,” Mercedes whispered over his shoulder. She rested a comforting hand on his arm as they charged the wreckage.

Claude swallowed. He couldn’t find his reassuring smile. “We’d better. I told him that I wasn’t about to let him die after everything we did for him.”

His eyes combed the horizon for anything other than the grey of ash and crumbled stone. Eventually, they locked on a splash of blue peeking from beneath the remains of a tower in the distance. The walls trembled, then collapsed as if shoved by a massive force.

It had to be him.

Claude jumped from his wyvern, scarcely remembering to let it touch the ground for Mercedes before dashing towards the moving rock. He cried out as he ran, “Dimitri! Is that you?”

Another rough heave and a shock of blonde hair became visible, bowed beneath the weight he struggled to free himself from. Claude grinned. Giddy laughter bubbled up in his chest. Dimitri was alive. He might be injured, but he was  _ alive _ . Claude didn’t believe in miracles, but he didn’t know what else to call this.

Dimitri’s eye raised to meet Claude’s. The archer’s excitement froze into an ice pick that rammed straight through his heart. 

Fresh tear tracks stained Dimitri’s left cheek. He’d never cried in all the time Claude had known him, and certainly not since finding him a month ago. If he was doing it now, that could only mean…

Claude looked at Dimitri’s feet and blanched. A broken horse, black armor, and a bright red mane.

Sylvain.

“You damned boar!” Claude hadn’t heard Felix approach, hunting for his liege as well. “What did you do to him?”

The last of the stones fell from Dimitri’s back. He knelt over the body of Sylvain, his hands shaking as they touched the knight’s forehead. “He raced across the fort to save me. I...I didn’t mean for this to happen. Please, Mercedes. He can’t die. I can’t lose him, too...”

Mercedes had already scrambled over the rubble to get to her patient, muttering comforting words about the Goddess’s will as magic flowed into Sylvain’s prone body. That didn’t stem Felix’s terrified diatribe.

“Wipe that pathetic look off your face! You don’t get to turn your eyes from what you caused. You sow nothing but destruction everywhere you go. If he dies because of you, beast...!”

“Lay off, Felix!” Claude snapped. 

He wasn’t sure when he’d gotten in the other man’s face, only that Felix reminded him of the first people in this country who heard he was from Almyra. The name-calling, the barbed words intending to injure, the pointed attempts to make him feel less than human. Whatever weird friendship Dimitri and Felix had shared since childhood, at that moment, all Claude cared about was keeping the man in front of him from convincing Dimitri his only choice was to be a bloodthirsty monster.

“Get out of my face, Claude,” Felix snarled back. His hand was on his hilt. “You already have plenty to answer for, and he deserves to hear exactly what he’s done.”

Claude threw his hands up. “I don’t want to fight with you. I’m just saying that now isn’t the time for piling on the guilt. It isn’t his fault.”

“Shut up!”

“Come on guys, it’s sweet having someone fighting over me and all, but it just isn’t the same if it’s not a pair of pretty ladies.”

All four sets of eyes dropped to the prone knight. Sylvain was smiling, a crooked grin that bordered on a grimace.

“Sylvain,” Dimitri whispered. His hands ghosted over the armor of his friend, as if afraid he’d fade away at a single touch.

“It’s been a while, Your Highness,” Sylvain tried to laugh, the sound squeezing from his lungs like a sick frog. “Good to see you’re still as strong as an ox. Thought we were going to get crushed.”

“Sylvain...You should have left me there...”

“Hey. Don’t go saying that kind of thing.” The knight’s countenance turned somber. “I’ve told you before, you need to rely on other people more. I’d do anything to keep you safe.”

Dimitri’s tongue dropped dead in his mouth. Felix turned aside, muttering something unflattering under his breath. He seemed marginally calmer now that his friend was out of immediate danger.

Trying to diffuse the tension between the four men around her, Mercedes stood, brushing off her skirt. “I’m just happy everyone’s safe. But we’ll need to take Sylvain to an infirmary until he recovers.”

“We need to regroup at Garreg Mach anyway,” Claude said, taking the change of subject as a chance to regain his mental footing. “If those things were from the Empire, it’s way too risky to push towards Enbarr until we know more about how they work. One wrong move and they could decimate our entire army.”

Mercedes nodded, “I agree. In that case, Dimitri, would you…”

“I’ll carry him,” Felix interrupted, stepping over the demolished rocks. He hauled Sylvain to his feet while the knight whined about his indelicate treatment.

Claude sighed as he trudged after the pair, a worried Mercedes at his side and forlorn prince behind him. This was going to be a long trip back to base.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where are the Almyrans, you ask? In a completely different part of the story.
> 
> Basically, I wanted to focus on the Fodlan relationships during the war to keep the plot a bit tighter than it was in the game. Claude's Almyran identity is still going to be a big deal (possibly even more so than in the source material), but there won't be much world politicking going on until Fodlan is stable.


	8. Hiding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude ponders what to do next with some unexpected help. Dimitri is given a choice.

It wasn’t easy to be the leader of an army and avoid half of it, but Claude thought he could manage, at least for a day. Eventually, the soldiers of Faerghus would come knocking on his door, demanding to know how Dimitri made his miraculous recovery. They’d also want to know how the Alliance and Kingdom intended to work together with potentially competing leadership.

Claude wished he could answer them confidently. Though phase one of his plan to prepare Dimitri for a return to sanity and royalty had been a success, he couldn’t predict what the prince would do after being forced to postpone their assault on Edelgard’s stronghold. Sylvain’s near-miss with death had complicated matters as well. It’s as if his valiant act of self-sacrifice had been deliberately designed to rip the stitches out of every one of Dimitri’s half-healed wounds. Between almost adding another ghost to the pile whispering in the prince’s ear and provoking Felix into an overprotective frenzy of insults, Claude would be lucky if Dimitri didn’t end up in another spiral of sleepless self-loathing by the end of the night. This scheme had been so much simpler when it was only him and Mercedes influencing the prince. 

Still, reintroducing Dimitri to other people remained a crucial part of his rehabilitation. Unlike Claude, Dimitri lived for others. Even if he managed to convince the prince that personal ambitions were okay to live for, he’d need support to stay on that track. On bad days, when voices screamed in his ear that he’d failed them as their king, Dimitri would need trusted friends to ground him and remind him that even noble ideals demanded sacrifice. Without them, he’d use guilt to shut out the world like Claude suspected he had been doing even before their academy days.

Dimitri’s isolation could not stand. Isolation bred ignorance, and ignorance led to children being pelted with cruel names and accused of crimes they didn’t commit. Fodlan didn’t need any more of that.

A knock on his bedroom door broke Claude’s train of thought. He groaned. That had better be Hilda because, as far as he knew, the only other people who might be looking for him were Felix (who he hoped was still hovering over Sylvain) or Ingrid. He had enough to think about tonight between politics and the war without having someone chew him out for an hour.

A second knock, harder than the first.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming!” Claude hollered. He dogeared the current page of the book on legendary magic he’d been taking notes in and shoved it across his desk. Two other books clattered to the ground. He glared at their betrayal on his way to the door, plastering on a pleasant smile to open it.

“Lysithea?”

“I know you’re busy Claude, but you could at least make an  _ attempt _ to keep your room clean. How do you find anything in this mess?” the white-haired woman chastised as she shoved past him into the room, her arms filled with a thick tome.

“I didn’t realize I would be getting a visit from the cleanliness constable, or I would’ve prepared some tea.” Claude shut the door behind them, greeting her with a frown and a hand on his hip. “Seriously, though, what brings you here? I know you’re eager to act like a real grown-up, but you shouldn’t listen to the Daphnel ladies about censuring me being a pre-requisite for that.”

“Even a child would be embarrassed by a room this untidy,” Lysithea scoffed. Rescuing the books on his desk from their anarchy, she made neat stacks against the wall until the surface was more wood than pages again. She placed her tome in the center of the newly-cleaned space.

Claude gasped when he saw the cover, rushing to peer over her shoulder. “Is that Tomas’s book? I thought Seteth confiscated it.”

“He did.”

“You  _ stole _ it?”

Lysithea bowed her head over the pages she was flipping through, her hair not quite hiding the blush clinging to her cheeks. “You weren’t the only one looking for answers back then. When we found out Tomas was really Solon, I had to have it. Those people...the ones who turned the students into monsters, killed Jeralt, and tried to murder the professor? I was sure they had something to do with what happened to me.”

Claude rested a hand on her shoulder. He knew if he said anything comforting, she’d only take it as coddling and snap at him for treating him like a child again. Instead, he simply asked, “What did you find?”

“Not as much as I wanted to. Only that there’s some larger force at play, something involving dragons and crests and magic lost for generations. However, since we started fighting the Empire, I’ve been feeling the same traces of blood magic as I did when I was a child and Solon tried to trap the professor. I couldn’t be sure until I saw what happened at Fort Merceus.” Her finger slapped against the page.

There, in black at white, a sketch of something that looked like a giant crossbow bolt with a blunted head, giving off rings of light. Next to it, a map with an arrow pointing to the Garreg Mach Monastery which deflected and ended at  Aillel, the Valley of Torment.

Now there was an ominous implication.

“You think those things have been used before,” Claude guessed.

Lysithea nodded. “Yes. There aren’t many details written out here, but don’t you think it makes more sense for what happened at Aillel to be created by something like those javelins of light than the Goddess’s wrath?”

“Having seen what happened at Fort Merceus first hand, it  _ is _ more believable,” Claude agreed. He ran a finger over the scruff on his jaw. “But that doesn’t prove there’s any connection to Solon or the Empire. This happened nearly a thousand years ago.”

“It may not be definitive, but we’d be foolish not to consider it,” the mage said, tearing herself from the page to glare at him. “This book was Solon’s. We know Edelgard was the Flame Emperor, which means she worked with Solon, Kronya, and the Death Knight back at the academy...”

“...And the Death Knight was the one who warned us,” or Mercedes, technically, “which means he knew these things were coming and what they could do,” Claude finished for her. 

He wasn’t sure if this made perfect sense or no sense at all. Shadowy organizations, calamities from a thousand years ago, the sudden, unprovoked invasion of the Adrestian Empire. Claude was certain that all of it revolved around the power of crests, from people who didn’t have one being turned into demonic beasts to fuel the Empire’s armies, to the two crests Lysithea was forced to bear against her will. Rhea had tried to hide it, but now she was gone, leaving them with halfbaked theories about a powerful enemy they didn’t know or understand and knights who would die before sharing her secrets. 

Only one thing was certain: Fodlan was filled with mysteries that would destroy the entire country if he wasn’t able to unearth them soon.

“Well? What do we do next?” Lysithea stared up at him expectantly. 

When had everyone started looking at Claude like he had all the answers?

“We need more information,” he decided, dropping his hand from where it had been playing with his beard. “I doubt Seteth will be happy if he finds out we have that book, so we’d better keep a low profile. I think what’s most important is to build a theory about why this is the first time they’ve used those light javelins. Do they have a maximum range? Are they getting desperate? Where are they coming from?”

Lysithea nodded along, already standing and sweeping up the stolen tome. “I’ll look into it. There isn’t much written in here, but I might be able to work something out from the illustrations and historical accounts surrounding Aillel. I’ve already written down what formulas I could from what I witnessed at Fort Merceus.”

“Reliable as always,” Claude complimented with a wide grin.

“Some of us have to be,” she scoffed, unable to stop herself from smiling back. She paused in the doorway. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ve got my own leads to follow. Just as soon as I’m sure no one from Faerghus is going to try killing me in my sleep. Or at the training grounds, in Felix’s case.”

Lysithea sighed, opening the door. “I would say that maybe this will teach you a lesson, but I don’t think you’ll ever learn. Try not to die, Claude. As much trouble as you are, the Alliance needs you.”

The door clicked shut behind her and Claude chuckled at the empty room. She was a sweet girl when she wanted to be. More importantly, she would undoubtedly come through on the research front, so he had better get moving on his end to smooth over Alliance and Kingdom relations.

Returning to his now uselessly organized desk, Claude opened the top drawer and retrieved an unmarked notebook. It might be too early to try something this aggressive, but he’d felt the same way about almost every move he’d made since Teach had returned to them. His instincts hadn’t failed them yet. Claude was alright scraping by with a few more close calls as long as it kept them moving towards fixing Fodlan.

After peeking out his doorway to be sure there weren’t any lions lying in wait to make a snack of an unsuspecting deer, Claude hurried past Felix’s deserted room to the one Dimitri had reclaimed, or more accurately, the one the Blue Lions had reclaimed on Dimitri’s behalf while waiting for him to wake up. Claude rapped on the door with a knuckle. 

It swung open, unimpeded by locks or latches.

“Dimitri…?” he whispered taking a cautious step through the doorway. He’d have thought the prince would have barricaded himself in here with how loudly he’d stomped down the hall an hour ago. Had he been so far in his head he forgot how locks work to keep people out?

Dimitri had huddled himself on the far side of the room, perched on his old bed with both knees tucked in front of him. The momentary rage and fear that exploded over his face softened to curiosity when he realized who’d come to visit him. “Claude?”

The archer thumbed at the door. “Do you want me to lock that for you? You look like you aren’t in the mood for company.”

Dimitri licked his lips. He nodded. “You can stay. I want to talk to you.”

Claude tried to keep his surprise off his face as he slid the lock into place with a loud click. “Oh? If you intend to tell me that you’re only using me as a pawn to get to Edelgard and we backed off before reaching Enbarr, I’d like to remind you that a tactical retreat is not the same thing as giving up the fight.”

“Not that.” A trembling breath in and out. “I want to say...thank you.”

Claude blinked. “What?”

“Thank you. For everything you’ve done this past month.”

Quick, defensive laughter filled the air. “You’re welcome, but I was only acting in my own self-interest. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I do,” Dimitri insisted more forcefully. His eye was clear, staring straight at Claude with a certainty that made the other man want to squirm. “You believed I was still capable of good and reason when I had given up hope for either. A selfish man like you claim to be would never have saved me without the faith I was worth something. I wanted so badly to die when you found me...to make the voices stop...and now...”

“Now?” Claude prompted. He crossed the room, taking a seat next to Dimitri on his bed, much like he used to during their nightly sessions near the cathedral.

“They are...quieter,” Dimitri admitted, toying with the fabric of his pants more like a chastised boy than a near-king. “Quieter than they’ve been for nine years. I’m not seeing their ghosts every day anymore.”

“Nine years...then you heard them at the academy, too?”

The prince squeezed his eye shut, fingers digging into his knees. A painful secret he’d never wanted to reach the light of day, Claude suspected. His lips parted, ready to mercifully change the subject.

“Yes. I did,” Dimitri pushed out, though every muscle in his body still clenched. “They are why I went to the academy. When...when my father died…” He swallowed, hands squeezing impossibly tighter into his own flesh. Acting on impulse, Claude placed a hand over his, encouraging them to relax before he snapped his bones from stress. Dimitri soldiered on, “...When my father died, he demanded I avenge him. It was all I had to hold onto. The only way to make right what had happened. I thought I could learn the truth at Garreg Mach and put an end to their voices.”

Claude’s gloved fingers squeezed the prince’s, offering whatever small comfort he could. The silver-tongued leader of the Alliance found himself at a loss for words. The only thing he could think to do was try to sate his need for information, as insensitive as that might be. “I thought the Kingdom considered their vengeance complete after wiping out most of Duscur. You didn’t?”

Dimitri’s eye snapped open, blazing. “They weren’t the ones I saw that day! The Kingdom was wrong, but I was too young to stop them.  _ She’s _ the one...The Flame Emperor…!”

“I believe you,” Claude interrupted. He was happy that Dimitri was talking again, but Claude didn’t need the prince retraumatizing himself for the sake of his own boundless curiosity. “And we’ll take care of that.”

“Not soon enough!” Dimitri snarled, throwing Claude’s hands off him. His shove threw the archer off-balance, sending him tumbling from the edge of the bed.

Claude groaned, rubbing a sore hip on the floor. Okay, so that had been the wrong platitude. Lesson learned. “I get that you’re unhappy, but tossing me around like a rag doll isn’t going to change anything. Do you want her head, or do you want to get killed before you reach Enbarr’s gates?”

For a long moment, Dimitri stared at Claude, unblinking. Then, he bowed his head. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’ve been through a lot worse than a little roughhousing with a prince,” Claude joked, popping back to his feet with a wink. Dimitri didn’t need to know about the cracked ribs he’d gotten from their spar before. It wasn’t as if the prince was really at fault for those; Claude had gotten what he deserved for running his mouth.

“You shouldn’t have stopped Felix,” Dimitri blurted out, still looking away from the other man. “Back at the fort, I mean. He’s right about me. I...”

“Stop.” Claude held up a hand and focused on his breaths to keep his anger at bay. 

After six years away, Claude’s insecurities still too often sounded like the kids who spat poisonous words about his mother and her cowardly half-breed son who’d never be a real Almyran warrior. With that in mind, it was impossible to believe someone could be called less than human by their ‘best friend’ day in and day out without starting to believe it. He had a sickening hunch that the voices in Dimitri’s head often parroted Felix’s exact words. Maybe they even used Felix’s voice without the prince noticing.

He knew Felix’s intentions weren’t malicious from how he pined over Dimitri while the prince was thought dead, but Claude couldn’t let this cycle of stopping Dimitri’s flogging of himself only to have Felix hand him another whip continue unchallenged.

“If you’re going to say some nonsense about ‘my hands only bring destruction’, save it. You’ve rescued me twice in the past month with those destructive hands of yours,” Claude informed him. He scarcely recognized the coldness of his voice. “More importantly, drowning yourself in regrets won’t change anything. You don’t want to be a monster anymore, right? Well, then - prove it.”

Claude bent down to grab the notebook that had fallen onto the floor with him and dropped it in the prince’s lap. It bounced off his thigh with a loud slap.

Dimitri glanced between the bound paper on the bed and the man who threw it at him, perplexed. “What is this?”

“My notes on everything that’s happened in the Kingdom over the past five years, compiled from the accounts of your Blue Lions. The houses, the supply lines, the Empire’s influence after you were presumed dead. Everything.”

“You want me to read it,” Dimitri surmised. He flipped gingerly through the pages, as though he was afraid it might bite him like a dog meeting a stranger who pets too hard.

“Yes,” Claude confirmed. “Read it. Memorize it. Tell me what they need when you’re done.”

Dimitri’s fingers tightened around the binding. “Why?”

“We have a war council tomorrow, and whether you want it or not, you’re the legitimate heir to the Kingdom’s throne. You can fulfill your duty to your people, or you can keep fretting over your monstrousness and let them die.” Claude inclined his head. “It’s time for you to choose what happens to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, Your Highness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit rushed in the writing, so I could get one last one out before I'm back to work and the update pace slows down. Unfortunately, that meant I wasn't able to reply to all your thoughtful comments on the last chapter individually yet (and apologize for giving my readers a collective heart attack about Sylvain, haha). Hopefully, a slightly slower pace in the coming weeks will give me more chances to talk with you all.
> 
> If my notes end up being right, this is about the halfway point of the story and where the alternate take on TWSITD really begins to show. Thank you again for all the amazing feedback from everyone!


	9. War Council Revisited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude faces his crimes against the Blue Lions. Dimitri returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, as soon as I say updates will be slow, I get an evening free to write. Quite a few of you have been anticipating Claude facing the music, so I hope you enjoy!

Ingrid ambushed him before the council room door swung shut. Well, it wasn’t  _ technically _ an ambush since they were both invited to this meeting and Claude was running fifteen minutes late again, but it felt like one. After spending two hours convincing the other nobles that the King of Faerghus returning wasn’t a harbinger of doom for the Alliance, Claude wasn’t in the mood for more arguing.

He was in for a day of disappointment.

“It’s about time you got here!” Ingrid snapped, palms slamming against the table as she pushed herself to her feet. At her left, Ashe also stood, while Felix leaned against the wall behind them and Mercedes and Annette remained seated closer to the foot of the table. Sylvain was nowhere to be seen, likely still in Manuela’s care.

Claude’s disarming grin did nothing to assuage the hostile atmosphere. “Hello to you, too, Ingrid. You’re spirited today.”

“You could at least  _ try _ not to antagonize them,” Hilda grumbled from the nearly empty Alliance side of the table. The only other soul willing to sit through the inevitable explosion with her was Lorenz. It would have been touching if Claude didn’t know he was only there to see the infamous Duke Riegan fail as a leader.

Ingrid dove into her questions without preamble or regard for his fake smile. “On behalf of Faerghus, we demand answers. How long has His Highness been awake?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I said he woke up right before the siege, would you?”

A multitude of voices surged. “Claude!” 

The leader winced. He wasn’t ready for an entire room mimicking his mother’s favorite tone. “Alright, point taken. The truth is, he’s been conscious for most of the past month.”

“You mean to tell me that you spent an entire month using our liege as bait to con the Kingdom into fighting the Empire for you?” Claude knew that look on Ingrid’s face - it was the one Judith always had on before she kicked his ass into the dirt. The scary matriarch gene must’ve run in Daphnel’s blood.

“You make it sound so sinister,” Claude tutted. “Yes, I did lie about Dimitri and kept him comatose during the day so you wouldn’t suspect anything, but you were as in favor of fighting the Empire as I was, and it was the best strategy against Fort Merceus. Besides, you have him back now. Isn’t that what’s important?”

“We would have had him back a month ago if not for you. We’ve been mourning him for five  _ years _ ...” Ingrid’s voice cracked on the last word, rage crumbling to the deluge of grief behind its dam. 

A dozen justifications Claude had told himself over the past month visited his tongue and fled without passing through his lips. It would have been so much worse if they had seen Dimitri like he had, torturing himself with memories of loved ones and begging for death. Mercedes knew; she’d seen it with him. But trying to talk his way out of taking responsibility for their heartache wasn’t right. How high a cost was he willing to pay for a better world? How high a cost was he willing to make  _ other _ people pay?

Claude closed his eyes, remembering the painting of Gronder Field and the red river.

“I’m sorry,” he said. No one acknowledged his apology.

Eventually, Annette broke the silence, “How  _ did _ you keep him a secret from us? Mercie, Marianne, Manuela, and I spent every day looking for a cure.” 

Claude’s smile was back, trembling at the edges. “I take it you didn’t notice the books missing from the library yet…?”

“You stole medical books?! What if we had needed those for someone else?” The slam of Ingrid’s fist shook the entire table. “What a reckless, irresponsible…!”

“Stop it!”

The room fell silent. All pairs of eyes turned to the soft-spoken healer in the back of the room, now on her feet with hands clenched at her sides.

“I can’t listen to you gang up on him any longer,” Mercedes pleaded. “Yes, Claude stole the medical books, but he gave them to me. I was the one who woke His Highness up and moved him every night. I’m sorry for not telling everyone.”

Murmurs of disbelief and distrust rumbled around the table. Even Hilda and Lorenz seemed shocked, glancing at each other and then glaring at Claude for getting someone so kind involved in one of his schemes. He offered a sheepish shrug as an apology.

Annette’s eyes shimmered with tears when she addressed her friend, “Why, Mercie? Why would you lie to us?”

“Because I believed it was what was best for him. I would never have done it if there wasn’t a need, Annie.” She reached out for the mage’s shoulder and grasped only air. Mercedes sighed, clasping her hands in a loose prayer at her waist. “His Highness was very sick when he woke. He wouldn’t have been able to handle everyone being around him right away. Yes, Claude lied to you so he could control His Highness’s recovery, but if he hadn’t, Dimitri might have hurt someone trying to get away.”

“Claude and Mercedes weren’t the only ones who lied!” Ashe suddenly exclaimed, too. A furious blush drenched his face when all attention turned to him. “I...I can’t be sure if it was His Highness, but the night when Claude broke the pillar in the training grounds, I was sure I heard two distinct voices. I could have told the truth but...I figured Claude had a good reason for lying. I trusted him.” Ashe squared his shoulders, cutting a striking figure like the knights of legend he loved so much. “I still do trust him. I don’t like that His Highness was hidden from us either, but if Claude and Mercedes say he had a good reason, then I believe them. We should focus on fighting the Empire instead of each other.”

The firm set of Ingrid’s frown remained, frustration from Ashe taking Claude’s side written all over her face. “We can’t ally with someone who lies to us when it’s convenient. I’m sorry if you and Mercedes have been suckered in by his charms, but Faerghus will not work with a dishonorable lout who stole our king!”

Ashe shook his head firmly, “Neither of us is allowed to make that decision, Ingrid. Sylvain and Felix are the highest-ranking members of the Kingdom, so they get to choose.”

“Sylvain isn’t here,” Ingrid huffed. She glared over her shoulder at the swordsman who’d said nothing this entire time. He didn’t even have the manners to look back at her. “And I doubt Felix was paying enough attention to make a decision.”

Felix snorted, uncrossing his arms while continuing to stare at the armor in the room rather than the people. “I’ve been paying attention. The boar isn’t worth this much talk.”

“Felix! He’s our king. You could at least  _ try _ to show some respect.”

“The only thing that matters is the Empire,” the swordsman spat. “The longer you cling to worthless concepts like honor and chivalry, the closer they get to destroying everything.”

“This is  _ not _ the time for that discussion!” Ingrid shouted back.

Claude waved to catch their attention. “Hey, guys?” Twin pair of disgusted eyes flashed towards the interloper. It seemed irritation was going to be everyone’s favorite expression to direct at him today. “Sorry to interrupt your little family squabble, but you can always settle this the Alliance way. A vote.”

Resentment was replaced by confusion. “A vote?”

The Faerghus soldiers turned back to one another to discuss. Whispers of process reached Claude’s ears as he leaned across the desk to eavesdrop. A rigidly hierarchical people, the Kingdom delegates couldn’t agree whether it was okay for a noble and a commoner’s votes to hold the same weight. It seemed they were leaning towards yes, but that only complicated matters further, forcing a spirited debate over whether that meant every Kingdom citizen in the monastery also deserved a vote about what should be done, which was both impractical and ill-advised given how little the average resident knew about political affairs. Most people in Garreg Mach weren’t leaders of the Kingdom, they were soldiers following orders for pay, faith, or personal glory.

Claude had half a mind to pull out some paper and start taking notes. These challenges with Faerghus’s power dynamics were sure to come back full force once the war was over, especially if Dimitri took over leading the whole of Fodlan. Given how Lorenz was already fidgeting in his seat across the way from the Blue Lions’ spirited discussion, chomping at the bit to throw his own ideals into the ring, it was clear that the re-unification of governments would be a hard battle, even without the Empire in the mix.

The door behind Claude swung open before he could grab a quill. 

Dimitri, dressed in a lord’s regalia, strode in with the bearing of a man born to lead. Every soldier from Faerghus (save Felix) jumped up to greet him, bowing deeply as they murmured his title in a chorus of reverence. Unlike the soft humility of his youth, there was no beseeching smile on Dimitri’s face when he gestured for them to be seated.

“My apologies for my lateness,” the prince said, gracing the Alliance with a regal nod. Claude dismissed his words with a shake of his head and a smirk he couldn’t repress. 

He’d guessed the man was a pretty competent actor after keeping his lust for revenge a tightly guarded secret for all that time, but Claude hadn’t been expecting him to fall back into the role of sovereign this smoothly. Minus the eyepatch and scruffy haircut, it was like Dimitri had never left his throne. Better keep this short before anyone got curious about the newly-formed cracks in his facade.

“Don’t worry about it, Your Highness. We’re just happy to have you with us again,” Claude answered, giving a short bow. He swore Dimitri’s lip twitched upwards. “Your delegates were debating whether the Kingdom will continue to aid the Alliance in our fight against the Empire.”

Dimitri didn’t hesitate. “We will. What is the plan?” 

His old friends shifted uneasily beside him, uncomfortable with such an abrupt end to their debate but too polite to speak up. Or maybe they were too scared.

Claude laughed, opening his arms wide in welcome. “I’m glad to hear you’re on board. My proposal is we march for Fhirdiad.”

The Kingdom citizens gasped and muttered amongst themselves. Dimitri merely tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I suspected as much. From the notes you gave me, it sounds as though the Kingdom is on the verge of collapse. If we don’t move to aid House Gautier and House Fraldarius soon, the Alliance will be completely surrounded and Garreg Mach with it.”

“Precisely,” Claude confirmed. Pride bubbled high in his chest - it was good to know he hadn’t overestimated the prince’s ability to see the big picture. “And until we know what those weapons were which wiped out Fort Merceus, picking our battles away from the gates of Enbarr is our safest bet. The church can keep searching for Lady Rhea without us for a little while.”

“Is someone looking into the weapons?”

Claude gestured to the empty seats on the Alliance side of the table. “Lysithea has some theories. She’ll report to me as soon as she knows anything substantial.”

“I can help, too!” Annette piped up, waving a hand. “I may not be as skilled as Lysithea, but many hands make for light research. Or...something like that…” 

Dimitri nodded at her. “Good. The sooner we solve that mystery, the sooner I can have Edelgard’s head on a pike.”

Claude cut in with a quick chuckle, hoping to steer the conversation away from the Emperor before Dimitri started one of his bloodthirsty speeches in front of the whole council. “Right. The sooner we can end this war the better. So, we’re all agreed. We march to Fhirdiad at the end of the month, overthrow Cornelia, and give Faerghus back its king.”

“I will not be taking the crown,” Dimitri corrected.

Claude choked on the breath he’d been taking to adjourn the meeting. He wasn’t the only one. Beside Dimitri, a bevy of protests rose up. The prince shut his eye, deaf to their pleas, and raised a hand to silence them.

“I have nothing more to say on the matter right now,” he informed them, a cold warlord rather than a long-lost friend. No argument was invited. His people gawked at him like he was a stranger who had stolen their prince’s skin. 

Claude feared the smallest spark right now might set the whole monastery ablaze.

Thankfully, Hilda butted in with a sweet smile before anyone could make the situation even worse. “You know, most of us have been in here for a  _ really _ long time. If we stay much longer, I think I might permanently mess up my back from all this sitting. Can’t we take a break?”

“A boorish man like Claude could never appreciate the needs of a delicate flower like yourself, but I won’t stand by while a lady suffers,” Lorenz said, seemingly oblivious to the room’s tension. “Claude, call an end to these proceedings at once.”

“Aw, thank you, Lorenz!” Hilda chirped. 

She turned her wide, syrupy smile on Claude who suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He wouldn’t turn down help from a fellow master manipulator right now, especially when his efforts involving Faerghus were currently crash landing like a wyvern drunk on yage leaves.

“I suppose Hilda’s right. We could all use some time to relax and think things through,” he acquiesced. “Would you mind staying behind, Dimitri? I still need to talk to you about something.”

“He’s not doing anything with…” Ingrid started, only for Dimitri to speak over her.

“Leave us.” 

Ingrid flinched away from his chilly order. Dimitri had never been so blunt with any of them, not even when he was preparing to give Sylvain one of his marathon lectures for besmirching the good name of Faerghus nobility yet again. 

The prince’s eye squinted, seeming to finally sense he said something wrong.

Claude cursed himself for the oversight. Of course, after five years of killing Imperial commanders in isolation, even Dimitri would forget a lot of that stuffy Faerghus etiquette. Claude had taught him to converse with humans again, not formality-obsessed Kingdom citizens.

Thankfully, Dimitri’s consternated reflection yielded the same conclusion. 

“That is…” He shifted his weight, looking off at nothing as he tried to force open the door in his brain that housed his princely decorum. It had so thoroughly rusted you could practically hear the hinges squeak. “Please leave us. I would like to speak to Claude alone. I will...accompany you to dinner when we are done.”

A scowl was Ingrid’s answer, but she wasn’t impertinent enough to disregard a direct order from her liege. The room filed out with a heavy air but without further outbursts, Felix and Ingrid the first to leave. Ashe chanced a quiet ‘I’m glad you’re back, Your Highness’ as he passed the prince and Annette gave him a small smile, still not making eye contact with Mercedes. Dimitri responded to none of them.

Eventually, the door closed behind them, leaving only the two leaders and silence.

“That was quite the entrance,” Claude said.

“Your notes were impossible to read. It took the better part of today to make sense of them.” The prince crossed his arms over his chest, an impenetrable wall. “But that isn’t what you want to talk about.”

There was no point in dancing around it, then. 

“Why won’t you take the crown?” Claude demanded.

Dimitri lowered his chin, shadowing the ice of his eye with long bangs. “Because I took what you said seriously about the future of the Kingdom. They need to be liberated from the Empire, yes, but more than that, they need a capable leader when this war is over. I am not suited for the throne.”

“You’ve been trained since you were a kid to be king. You were literally born for it!” Claude objected. He could feel the irony burning his tongue.

Dimitri’s head cocked ever so faintly. 

“Why does it matter so much to you? You’re the leader of the Alliance.” The prince advanced towards Claude with slow strides like a lion stalking its prey in the tall grass.

The archer took a half-step back without realizing it. “Ah...well...the Kingdom’s politics are…”

“None of your concern,” Dimitri finished for him. He stopped his approach a sword’s length from Claude, towering over the other leader with the presence of a vengeful god. “The truth, Claude. I’ve agreed to be your pawn. It’s time you share the board we’re playing on.”

Claude grimaced, fighting the urge to look for an escape route. This was typical of his luck today, putting Dimitri’s mind back together only to have it turned against him. The prince had never been a fool when it came to matters of state, and he did not hesitate to protect his people from any threat, even if the threat came from a close companion. It was why Claude had chosen him.

If Claude couldn’t trust an earnest man like Dimitri with his dream, would he really ever be able to see it to fruition?

He breathed out through his nose, setting his teeth and meeting the lion’s menacing gaze. “The truth is, I have much bigger plans than ending this war. I want to see Fodlan united, free from the shackles of religion and crests and needless bloodshed. I dream of a future where Fodlan’s borders are suggestions rather than sentences. Where people can come and go without fear of persecution. Where exchanging cultures and goods is as natural as breathing to the people of the world.”

“A noble dream. One I used to share in part,” Dimitri admitted. 

Claude grasped the prince’s arms. “And that is exactly why I need you. You are the one I believe should rule over Fodlan. You have the pedigree to be a king, but more importantly, you have the heart of one. No one wants so badly to do the right thing for their people as you.” He gave a rakish laugh. “I mean, you just refused ultimate power that you’ve been promised your whole life because you care about them too much.”

Dimitri’s face screwed up in concentration, mentally rearranging whatever rough chessboard he’d cobbled together this past month of the people around him. “What about you? You are already used to leading peoples from differing backgrounds within the Alliance. You haven’t committed the atrocities I have. If anyone is fit to lead this new Fodlan, it is the man who orchestrated it.”

“I’m afraid I have other plans for after the war,” Claude said, sporting a half-smile. 

The prince’s eye widened, its blue iris shining like the light of daybreak. “You’re leaving Fodlan and returning to your homeland.”

Claude’s hands released the prince, his feet already backing away towards the door. That wasn’t a secret he had intended to share today. How could he have possibly put that together so quickly?

“You never hid that you weren’t born here well,” Dimitri said, answering the panicked question in Claude’s eyes. He didn’t give chase, letting the archer have his distance. “There were many signs. Your sudden appearance as the Alliance’s future leader. Always calling yourself an outsider. Being ignorant of Fodlan’s customs and hiding it behind jokes. Spending every waking moment studying whatever you could get your hands on. I’ve known you weren’t only a Riegan since our days at the academy.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Claude murmured.

“Because it didn’t matter. You were cunning, charming, and hardworking despite your irritating habit of pretending to be a fool.” A hint of levity turned his lips; Claude wasn’t the only person in his life with that bad habit. “No matter what you may have been told, the accident of your birth has no bearing on your worth as a person. A man can only be judged by his actions.” 

Claude opened his mouth but no words came out. He swallowed, but his mouth still felt as dry as an Almayran desert. Taking pity on the deer frozen before him, Dimitri sighed and turned on a heel, cape flowing behind him as he exited the room to find his countrymen. 

“So you see, Claude, that is why I can never be your savior king.”


	10. Celebration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A feast is had to welcome Crown Prince Dimitri back. Claude doesn't attend.

The true return of the Crown Prince of Faerghus was cause for celebration across Garreg Mach. Rations were tight, especially with the recent influx of Kingdom soldiers, so residents took extra shifts fishing and hunting to prepare a feast on his behalf. There was some debate over what should be served as, strangely, not even the Blue Lions were able to name Dimitri’s favorite food. The prince’s command to cook ‘whatever was most plentiful’ only annoyed the monastery chefs. Jerky was not a meal suited to honoring royalty.

In the end, they decided on sweet buns with caramel crowns and onion gratin soup. The aroma of oozing cheeses melted over a broth loaded with acerbic fresh vegetables and spices from the greenhouse spread across the monastery grounds. Residents from every background and country migrated to the dining hall, drawn by the tantalizing smells. As only a feast could do, they came together as one people that night, stuffing their faces with food and dancing to folk tunes played by Kingdom musicians-turned-soldiers who broke out their instruments for the first time in months.

It was the sort of thing Claude had lived for in his days at the academy. He would have danced all night, grabbing the hand of every willing man and woman in the hall to lead them in revelry until they were all smiling. Sharing the joys of humanity was the stuff in which alliances were forged. It was his dream realized in new bonds, raucous laughter, and so much good food that even Raphael couldn’t empty the pot.

Claude only lasted an hour before his feet led him back to his room. He hadn’t wanted to leave, not as a political move anyhow, but after his smile accidentally flattened to a hard line for the third time while keeping an eye on Dimitri and his entourage, he had no choice. The gregarious Duke Riegan couldn’t be seen sulking at a party.

There were few emotions Claude hated more than envy. It belonged to men staring at something beautiful from the outside, never knowing the joy of being allowed in. He’d spent his entire life dogged by it.

When he visited Fodlan, Claude had sworn himself to shallow friendships to avoid that feeling. His fellow students and teachers never knew his background or the depth of his convictions. They were content scraping the surface, enjoying his boisterous personality and spilling their secrets to his ever-inquisitive mind.

It didn’t matter if they never knew him. He’d never intended to stay once his work was done.

Or rather, it wasn’t supposed to matter. It hadn’t mattered, not until Dimitri dangled the thing Claude wanted most before him. He didn’t need to carve off bits of himself to fit into the prince’s mold. In those few words after the war council, Dimitri proved he understood, not everything but enough, and didn’t care.

Or maybe it was his caring that had made Claude’s well-contained emotions spiral into an embarrassing whirlwind. Dimitri cared about _him_. He cared enough to question Claude’s true motives, to challenge him not as an outsider threatening his way of life, but a partner whose differences only made them stronger. The childhood fantasy playing out before his eyes almost made Claude forget their arrangement.

But tonight, seeing Dimitri’s childhood friends supporting him at everything from how holding a spoon was different than a spear to grappling with the long-forgotten steps of a folk dance, forced Claude to remember. They weren’t partners. They were barely friends. He and Dimitri were two men using each other to achieve their own ends.

Claude groaned into his hands, realizing he’d been staring at the same paragraph for fifteen minutes now. Muffled laughter carried through the walls from the merriment below. It was impossible to focus with all that noise. He slammed the book shut and tossed it onto a pile to be dealt with tomorrow.

“Wow, that must have been an awful book,” a lighthearted twitter came from his doorway.

Claude was grateful he had chosen to face away from the door while he researched. It gave him a chance to put up a relaxed mask before turning around. “What brings you away from the party, Hilda? Can’t find any cute men to dance with? I’m pretty sure Sylvain is still looking for a beautiful woman on his arm if you’re desperate enough to dance in the infirmary.”

“That’s a sweet offer, but I don’t think I’d be desperate enough to dance with him in ten lifetimes,” she hummed, swinging her arms as she waltzed into his room. “I did think it was weird I didn’t see  _ you _ dancing. You never miss a party.”

Claude laughed and held up one of the fourteen books sprawled across his desk with a shake of his wrist. “What can I say, I’ve been busy. Retaking Fhirdiad isn’t going to be easy.”

“Mmhm...and judging by how hard you closed that book, your research must be going  _ really _ well,” she said snidely.

“Absolutely perfect.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know, it’s important to take breaks.”

“So you’ve reminded me every day since I met you,” Claude answered with a wry smile. He stretched in his chair, wincing as his shoulder gave a satisfying pop. “But in this case I agree. I think I’m going to turn in early.”

Hilda sighed like he was an idiot, flipping her hair over a shoulder. “I  _ meant _ you should come back to the celebration. If it’s the war council bugging you, I don’t think you have to worry so much. They’re mad, but that kind of thing always blows over. I’m sure they’ve been missing you tonight. It’s like old times out there.”

Even in those old days, Claude was sure none of the Lions would have missed him. His own house had found him insufferable half the time. If anything, they’d be relieved to have an evening where they didn’t have to watch their backs or their drinks, awaiting the infamous schemer’s next move. Back then, all he had to do was mention poisons and most of the students would find an excuse to leave the room. 

“I think they’re doing just fine without me. Let them enjoy having Dimitri back.”

Hilda cocked her head, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Is it Dimitri you’re avoiding? You looked pretty shaken up after talking to him. I don’t blame you. He was scary in there.”

“I’m not avoiding anyone,” Claude insisted. “They just don’t need me there.”

It was exactly what he had wanted to happen. Claude had only been a stopgap for the prince’s health. Now that Dimitri was well enough to be among his people again, his countrymen were welcoming him with open arms. His close-knit pride of lions would remind him of his duty to take the throne better than the Alliance leader ever could and would tend to him long after Claude left for Almyra. Letting the Kingdom reclaim Dimitri was the best outcome for everyone.

Claude didn’t notice his smile had slipped until he saw the concerned arch of Hilda’s eyebrows. Thankfully, she always knew when more questions weren’t welcome.

“Well, you’re missing a great time holed up in here with all these musty books. Someone even got Marianne to dance! It was amazing!” She twirled in a circle, imitating a formal Kingdom waltz and giggling all the while.

“As fun as that sounds, I think I’m still going to have to pass. You can tell me all about it tomorrow.”

Hilda’s smile fizzled. “If you’re sure…”

Claude intended to make it clear once again that he didn’t want to go out tonight with so much still to learn about Fhirdiad. Before the end of the month, he’d have to regain the Kingdom’s trust (or at least their respect) by proving that obnoxious ‘Master Tactician' moniker true, and the only way to do that was by concocting a brilliant strategy for overthrowing Cornelia which didn’t involve wading through the massive Kingdom and Imperial armies she had at her disposal. Even for him, it was a tall order that would take most of his waking hours and a few of the ones usually reserved for sleeping.

He intended to say all of that, but the heavy steps that brought another familiar face to his doorstep behind Hilda ended up taking all of his attention.

“Dimitri?” Claude whispered, eyes wide.

Hilda whirled around and jumped when she saw the tall blonde prince looming nearby. He shifted outside from foot to foot, holding his elbows and mumbling under his breath, not looking up at the pair. Claude assumed Dimitri was on his way to his room - he vividly recalled the prince slipping away like a specter from every party they’d held at Garreg Mach, and there was no way this celebration hadn’t been ten times more exhausting between the social overload and impossibly high expectations from his countrymen. A man could only feign strength for so long.

What surprised Claude was the lack of any Faerghus soldiers as an escort. With all their paranoid hovering, he had started to think they didn’t want their precious liege so much as heading to the privy on his own.

Hilda’s flirtatious smile popped back into place like it never left, stepping into the hall to greet their unexpected visitor. “Oh, hello Dimitri! Tired from partying so hard? Do you need help getting back to your room?”

“No.” Then as an afterthought, “Thank you, Hilda.”

Claude didn’t like the vacant look in his eye. It reminded him too much of their early days, where Dimitri would look through him rather than at him, so far inside his mind that Claude had doubted he’d ever break through. Being able to address Hilda was a good sign, but Claude couldn’t shake the warning bells ringing in his ears.

“Why don’t you head back to the festivities, Hilda?” he said, waving her off towards the stairs. He trusted the pink-haired woman, but he’d rather not have more witnesses to Dimitri’s tenuous mental state than necessary.

“Aw, are you sure you can handle everything on your own? I can help out if you need it,” she replied with false sincerity.

Claude’s lips pressed into a thin smile. “Go enjoy yourself. I’ll put you to work tomorrow.” He crossed the room in quick strides, joining them in the hall. “I can handle things here.” 

To emphasize his point, Claude rested a casual hand on Dimitri’s shoulder. The prince’s eye blinked and flicked towards him. Good, he was still able to focus.

Not needing to be told twice to take an exit while she could, Hilda nodded and retreated towards the sound of merrymaking, making up her own melody as she hummed along with the cheerful tune floating through the air. The song screeched to a halt when someone else almost slammed into her.

“Gilbert?” she squeaked.

“My apologies, Hilda.” His brusque tone didn’t sound very apologetic. “Have you seen His Highness? He’s gone missing.”

“Dimitri? He’s right over there.” She pointed to where Claude was trying to talk the prince into sitting down.

“I see, thank you.” 

Giving a half-bow, he was gone before she could tell him it was no trouble at all. He barreled down the hallway, calling for and scolding his liege the whole way. “Your Highness! We’ve all been worried sick about you. You mustn’t wander off like that!”

Dimitri’s back straightened beneath Claude’s hand. A hastily rigged princely mask covered his fatigue. “Gustave. I had thought to rest for a short while. I assure you, I’m fine.”

“Be that as it may, Your Highness, I’m afraid your presence is still required at the celebration.”

“Yes...yes, of course,” came Dimitri’s resigned reply. He didn’t make a move towards the stairwell.

“Come now. You mustn’t be seen fraternizing alone with the leader of the Alliance given the current state of affairs.” 

Impatient, Gilbert reached for his wrist. Dimitri’s entire body jerked back and nearly knocked Claude to the floor. 

“Unhand me!” he roared, blue eye alight with fury. 

As Gilbert took two quick steps back, a door slammed open to Claude’s right. Felix had apparently already turned in for the night and was now standing in his doorway, half-dressed with a sword in hand.

“What do you think you’re doing, boar?” he snapped. His disheveled hair free of a ponytail clung to his face and fell in his eyes, giving him a look nearly as wild as Dimitri’s.

“Easy, there. No need to get worked up,” Claude said while regaining his footing. He held his hands up to pacify as many of the three men as he could. “It’s been a long day. Why don’t we all get some rest?”

Gilbert gave him a disgusted glare. “I realize things are more lackadaisical in the Alliance, but His Highness has duties that must be fulfilled for his Kingdom. He cannot simply retire before the night is over.”

“He’s the crown prince isn’t he?” Claude challenged. Something about the disparaging way Gilbert talked about the Alliance and Dimitri’s free will raised his hackles. “Seems to me like he should be able to rest if that’s what he wants.”

“Your opinion is noted, but he is no longer your concern.” Gilbert beckoned for Dimitri to follow him again. He didn’t brave another touch. “Now please, come with me, Your Highness. I know you’re tired, but it should only be another hour.”

Claude anticipated Dimitri would ignore him completely. Maybe even snarl or storm off despite Felix’s posture that promised retribution should he act too savage.

The prince’s breathing evened out. He nodded once, the fire in his eye cooling to unfeeling steel. “I understand. I will come.”

“Like a dog dragged by a chain around its neck,” Felix grumbled, watching the two walk away, Gilbert with purposeful strides and Dimitri skulking a step behind. “You’re just going to let this happen?”

It took Claude a moment to realize he was being addressed. He laughed, “Me? You heard Gilbert. I’m not part of the Kingdom. I don’t get a say in any of this.”

“You’re the only one the boar listens to, if he listens to anyone at all,” Felix huffed. He ran his fingers through the long, tangled mess of hair framing his face. Even half-dressed and bedraggled like a cat caught in the rain, he managed to look threatening.

“Careful, Felix. You almost sound like you’re worried about him.”

Claude expected a pointed suggestion of what he could do with his smart mouth or at least a denial of his anxiety. Something about how Felix was only making sure the ‘Boar Prince’ didn’t go mad and gore them all to death because his allies were too stupid to give him space.

For once, Felix decided to surprise him.

“My father is coming,” he said. Rodrigue Fraldarius, Claude’s memory supplied - head of their house and Dimitri’s guardian following the Tragedy of Duscur. Felix’s lip curled in revulsion. “He and Gustave are idealistic fools who cling to useless tradition, valuing chivalry over lives. They will truss the beast up like a man until he chokes from the ropes holding him on his hind legs. The boar is at his worst when he pretends to be what he’s not.”

As much as Claude despised Felix’s nicknames for Dimitri, he couldn’t deny that the way Gilbert had talked to the prince hadn’t sat well with him, or that Dimitri seemed unwell after a full evening of forcing himself to act like royalty again. If Rodrigue also intended to coerce the fragile prince into leadership roles he wasn’t ready for, it would be difficult for Dimitri to become the progressive leader that Claude needed. At best, he’d fall to tradition rather than pursue his own dreams because the expectations were clear. At worst, the voices might become unbearable and drive him from the Kingdom entirely.

Claude was supposed to be letting Faerghus handle their prince from now on, backing off to personally focus more on the war and the global stage. But maybe he had miscalculated. After all, he’d learned that Dimitri had been of dubious mind even during their time at the Academy. Who’s to say he wouldn’t end up dangerously repressing everything again if his rehabilitation was left completely in Kingdom hands? As the primary one who had handled Dimitri at his worst, there might be some role for Claude to play that the Lions couldn’t fill yet. 

Claude sighed, “Let’s say that’s all true. What do you expect me to do about it?”

“_Fix it,_ Claude.” 

Felix’s door slammed shut.

A ringing endorsement and another problem on the Alliance leader’s plate. It seemed he now had a prince to check up on tomorrow, regardless of what Gilbert or the Kingdom wanted.

Though no one was there to see it, Claude smiled the whole way back to his room.


	11. Taming the Lions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude tries to help Dimitri. He ends up sidetracked by a few of his fellow Lions.

Claude was never one for waking with the dawn unless absolutely necessary. He’d have liked to blame it on a spoiled childhood, but back in Almyra sleeping in meant being literally kicked from bed and held at swordpoint while he was lectured about making himself an easy target. Just like he wasn’t allowed to keep books in his bed as a kid, lazing around to catch up on sleep because he was up too late scheming was strictly forbidden as well. 

‘You need to manage your time better,’ his father had told him repeatedly over breakfast. ‘A sleep-deprived warrior is a dead warrior.’

Claude would have to recount Dimitri’s story to the Almyrans when he returned. His father wouldn’t believe a man could forgo rest as often as the prince did and still tear through an Imperial battalion with his bare hands. Who knew, hearing about a Fodlan noble doing something even Almyran generals considered impossible might earn their respect. Besides, his old man could use to be taken down a few pegs.

Speaking of the prince, he was the reason Claude was stumbling out of bed while the sun still clawed at the horizon. Dimitri’s schedule at the Academy had always started at the training grounds when the day’s first ray of light touched the earth. Most mornings, the prince and his entourage could be heard through the walls while Claude tried to sleep, getting fitted into full armor and trying unsuccessfully to keep their voices down when Sylvain or Felix started an argument on their way out. Dimitri’s daily regimen had been as predictable and rigid as the traditional young prince himself.

These days were different. They shared their old rooms but not their old routines. Sylvain kept odder hours than he used to, only getting up in the mornings when Felix knocked on his door and shoved a spear in his hands. Now that Sylvain was confined to parts of the monastery without stairs and barred from training until his legs healed, Felix left without a sound long before Claude opened his eyes. Dimitri was never with him. 

However, things had been changing. Dimitri’s attempts to reintegrate since his return meant he’d been sleeping more and falling back into old habits. He spent his afternoons focused on weapon maintenance and training, though he no longer trained against other people. He wouldn’t tell anyone why. The occasional twinge of Claude’s ribs gave him an educated guess.

Claude couldn’t take any chances that today would be the day Dimitri started training with the rising sun again. If Rodrigue was already on his way and as bad as Felix hinted, then Claude needed to intercept the prince early. Once the Kingdom got its claws in him again, they’d surely tear their beloved prince away from the Alliance.

Running his hand through messy brown locks, Claude nudged a few books out of his way with his foot so he could reach the dresser. He threw on the underpinnings of House Riegan’s regalia. Simple pants and a low-cut white shirt unlike the padded gambeson he wore on official business, tied together with a thick green and gold sash that reminded him of the warriors he grew up around. It was a bit of self-indulgence Claude allowed himself along with his earring; thankfully no one knew enough about Almyran culture to guess his sense of fashion was anything other than a personal quirk.

The halls were empty at that hour of the morning. However, when he arrived at Dimitri’s room, the door was already open with another kneeling at the prince’s bedside.

“Mercedes? What are you doing here?” Claude whispered as he walked in. He didn’t know if the prince’s closed eyes and steady breathing meant he was sleeping, but the archer wasn’t about to be the one responsible for waking him up by accident.

Mercedes held a finger to her lips, shooing him away with a flick of her wrist. She followed him back out into the hall and closed the door behind her. “I’m sorry for being so rude, Claude, but he needs his rest.”

“Did something happen?”

She sighed, fingers worrying at her dress. “After Gilbert found Dimitri and brought him back to the celebration last night, he was...unwell. I wanted to bring him to bed, but Gilbert insisted it was best for him to stay so he could practice being a prince. By the end of the night, when he was finally allowed to leave, His Highness begged me for the drink you used to give him to help him sleep.”

“So you were making sure it worked,” Claude guessed, a glower eclipsing his face.

“Yes. He was so upset, I didn’t know what else to do,” she admitted. Her eyes cast a mournful look at the closed door. “I wish I could do more for him.”

Claude felt the same, but moping around wouldn’t help either of them in fighting for Dimitri’s recovery. He could tell his frown was only making things worse. Slapping on a grateful smile, he patted the healer on the arm to draw her away from the door. “Hey, don’t worry too much about it, okay? You’re doing the right thing.”

She answered his smile with a serene one of her own. Claude could see why Ignatz said he used her for inspiration when painting his Goddess’ compassion. “Thank you. And thank you for taking care of him, too. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? I know you say it’s because you need the Kingdom and the Alliance to work together to defeat the Empire, but I can tell you’re a good person at heart, no matter what anyone says.”

Claude’s grin drew wider and tighter. “I think you’re giving me too much credit.” He took a step down the hall away from Dimitri’s room, gently guiding her alongside him. “But speaking of the war, I’ve been wanting to check up on you. I caused you some trouble I didn’t mean to with the Blue Lions. Sorry about that.”

“Oh, it’s alright. All friends fight sometimes, but we always make up. It’s nothing to worry about,” she chirped, waving off his unease.

That answer didn’t help Claude settle. Annette and Mercedes had been inseparable before his scheming forced one to break the other’s trust. Usually, he wouldn’t waste time feeling guilty since the onus was on those who went along with his plots to be smart enough to protect themselves, but seeing Mercedes get hurt was like watching a sweet-tempered mare accidentally walk face-first into brambles to get a meal. Her nature was too gentle for someone like Claude to manipulate without conscience.

And here he was, proving it again by using her for answers in the disguise of friendly banter. “Ah, well, that’s good to hear. You had me worried after that little encounter with the Death Knight.”

Mercedes’ light mood evaporated and her steps slowed. “Oh...yes. Emile…”

“Emile?” Claude questioned, rolling to a stop beside her. “Is that a name? I thought the Death Knight was Jeritza.”

“He is, but his real name is Emile.” Her eyes studied the stone under their feet. “He’s my little brother. I haven’t seen him since I was small, so I wasn’t sure until I saw him there.”

Claude racked his brain for any hints Mercedes had dropped in the past about her family. He’d known about her mother fleeing the Empire to live in the Kingdom and growing up in a church. Anyone beyond that, her father or siblings, never seemed to come up.

As someone whose family was routinely considered ‘the enemy’, Claude could empathize with her desire to keep quiet.

“I know it isn’t worth much, but I’m sorry you have to fight against him. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

She shook her head with a lingering sigh. “As much as I wish it wasn’t the case, this is his choice. I can’t let him hurt people, even if he is my brother. All I can do is fight for my friends and help His Highness create a world where crests don’t matter so much.”

“Your crest hurt you?” 

Claude was beginning to sense a theme among the Blue Lions. No wonder Dimitri hadn’t berated him for devaluing crests even though their status as blessings was a core tenant of the church a so-called ‘Holy Kingdom’ would be expected to uphold.

“In a sense. My father married my mother so she could bear a child with a crest for him. Once Emile was born, my mother and I were forced to flee,” Mercedes recalled. Her solemnity cracked with a grateful smile. “But it’s alright. I consider myself blessed that the Kingdom and the church welcomed us with open arms. I only hope I can pass on the kindness they showed to me. That’s why I’d like to keep working for the church when the war is over. To help people.”

Claude started walking down the stairs again, chuckling uneasily, “I can’t say I’m much of a Goddess-fearing man, but helping people sounds like a nice dream. The world could use more of it.”

“I agree,” Mercedes returned, her face radiating joy. “And I don’t think someone needs to believe in the Goddess to help people, either. You do just fine, Claude.” 

“If Rhea heard you say that, I don’t think she’d agree,” he mumbled. He’d seen what happened to blasphemers brought to that woman’s attention. Nothing good could come of a cause that killed anyone who questioned it.

Mercedes hummed thoughtfully. “I know she can be harsh, but I think she only does it when people try to hurt her. She wouldn’t punish you just because you don’t believe. You know, back when Dedue was here, he taught me all sorts of interesting things about the gods and goddesses of Duscur, and Rhea never said anything to me about it.”

“You learned about a pantheon outside of the Goddess?” Claude had thought people from Fodlan couldn’t even conceive of the idea. He’d mostly stopped broaching the subject of religion after getting grounded for offending some visiting Alliance nobles his first week in Fodlan. All he had done was ask why they thanked the Goddess for their meal rather than the earth that grew it. Apparently, some people from Fodlan took the matter of respecting the Goddess very personally.

“I did! They have separate gods to pray to for everything in Duscur, from victory in battle to a good day of fishing. It’s so different from how all of my prayers go to the Goddess. I think there’s something beautiful in looking at the world another way.”

“If only more people shared your point of view, maybe this war would have never happened,” Claude said, a bittersweet smile twisting his lips.

The comment seemed to spark something in Mercedes. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh! I almost forgot! Sylvain said he wanted to talk to you. Something to do with the war effort. I think he’s been having a hard time not being able to contribute to the council or keep an eye on His Highness.”

“Are you sure he asked for me specifically? I can’t imagine I’m at the top of his ‘people I want to talk to’ list. He usually has at least a half-dozen beautiful women that come before me.” 

Unless what Sylvain wanted to discuss was Claude fleeing the fort without Dimitri, consequently forcing the knight to do something risky and mangle his legs in the process.

“He asked for you by name, so I’m pretty sure.” Mercedes’ lyrical hum suggested she didn’t notice Claude’s trepidation. “Hey, if you’ve got some time, he’s usually awake this early. Why don’t you head over now since Dimitri won’t be awake for a few more hours? I’d be happy to fetch you whenever His Highness is available.”

“I suppose there’s no point in putting it off,” Claude grumbled. 

Being awake at this hour was bad enough, why not face a few more disappointments while he was at it? At least Sylvain was more forthcoming than Felix. Maybe he could learn something about Rodrigue, Gilbert, and how Dimitri was acting once the redhead was done getting his shots in.

Claude plastered on a cheerful smile as he waved goodbye to Mercedes, the healer heading towards the cathedral for her morning prayers. He walked the dark, winding road to the infirmary alone, counting the soft thud of his heels against stone to keep his mind from racing. There was no point in trying to prepare for talking to Sylvain. Despite being an expert at fake smiles and false personas, Claude had never found it easy to read other masters of the craft.

He arrived to find there was only one healer on duty at this hour. Thankfully, even though Kingdom and Alliance tensions were high, being the leader of the Alliance still held enough clout in the monastery to grant him easy access to any patient. The monk guided him to Sylvain’s room without question, holding the curtain aside for Claude to enter, then closing it to give the two men some privacy.

Claude glanced around the room with a low whistle. “You certainly live up to your reputation. This explains why there haven’t been any flowers left in the greenhouse all week.”

Sylvain, who had been pretending to sleep in the event an admirer wanted to try to wake their knight in shining armor with a kiss, laughed, a roguish grin inviting Claude to let his guard down. “What can I say? The only thing a lady loves more than a handsome man is a handsome man she can nurse back to health. Once they heard I broke my leg while valiantly rushing to rescue my liege, they couldn’t get enough of me.”

“This is where you tell me you have me to thank for that broken leg,” Claude guessed, leaning against the wall while sporting a wry smile of his own.

“And let you take credit for my heroism? No way!” Sylvain replied with mock outrage. 

The sparkle of his laugh didn’t reach his eyes. Claude echoed it until the moment passed and a tense silence fell between them. 

Sylvain cleared his throat first. “Truthfully, I don’t blame you for what happened to me, if that’s what’s got you sweating. It’s hardly the first time I’ve rushed in to do something boneheaded for a friend. Just ask Ingrid.”

Claude snorted and shook his head. “I’m pretty sure Ingrid would sooner run me through with a lance than talk to me right now.”

“Ah, that’s just Ingrid. She doesn’t yell at you unless she cares.” Sylvain tossed his hands behind his head, glancing up at the blank ceiling he’d spent far too much time contemplating lately. “Though I’ll admit, you really managed to piss her off. She was in here for at least two hours after that war council when you told everyone how long you’d been hiding His Highness from us. Kept shouting that everyone had lost their minds.”

“I realize it probably doesn’t mean much at this point, but I’m sorry.”

“I’m not asking for an apology.” Sylvain’s hands suddenly dropped to his sides, his brow furrowing. This wasn’t the womanizing clown Claude was speaking to anymore. It was the knight who would do anything for his friends, including running a suicide mission and getting his legs crushed by a tower if he thought it might save them. “I want to hear why you did it.”

Claude hesitated. He could say that he thought it was the best way to get Dimitri on the throne, but he’d made that mistake once and learned it invited follow up questions as to why he cared. He could also play the angle Mercedes had innocently suggested - that Dimitri was too far gone when they found him and needed some one-on-one rehabilitation. Whatever he said, it needed to be enough of the truth to convince Sylvain. He might act the jokester, but the amount of power he wielded in the Kingdom couldn’t be ignored and Claude suspected the knight was smart enough to use it when it mattered.

“The truth is, I was worried about him. He was barely able to hold a conversation when he woke up. He talked to ghosts as much as he talked to me and threatened me nearly every day,” Claude admitted, watching Sylvain’s stoic expression for a reaction. “After I got him to sleep a bit, he started doing better, but it was slow. He needed time to recover before the Kingdom dumped all their expectations on him again.”

“Yet you had no problem dragging him into the thick of battle.”

“You caught me.” Claude threw his hands up, leaning away from the scowling knight. “I needed his strength for the army, even though I knew it might hurt his progress.” This was the moment of truth. He prayed that Felix’s and Sylvain’s bond extended to their opinions of how their countrymen treated Dimitri. “Though, if this is honesty hour, I’d say bringing him into that battle did a lot less damage than revealing him to the Kingdom again.”

Sylvain barked a laugh, short and angry. “You’re probably right about that.”

“You think so, too?”

“We all got saddled with some dumb baggage from our crests and families, but His Highness always had it the worst. He felt like he had to be perfect for the Kingdom.” Sylvain’s head dipped forward to allow his bangs to hide his eyes. “They put the world on his shoulders, and he’s too stubborn and kind to realize it’s too much to carry alone.”

That checked out with what Claude had observed. Although the schemer had dragged Dimitri out of his bloodthirsty hole by dangling his duties in front of him, he was starting to fear that plan was dangerously close to backfiring. He needed Dimitri following his dreams, not becoming a yes man to his country’s traditions. It was beginning to seem like some of his people felt the same way.

“If that’s true, then how about you and I figure out a way to help him? I’ve got mobility and power within the Alliance, and you have insight into Dimitri’s history and the ability to not be hated by the Kingdom. Together, maybe we can help him out,” Claude proposed.

He was met with an incredulous stare. “That’s quite the jump. I’m not one to turn down a friend in need, but I’m not sure what you’re getting out of this.”

“A stable Kingdom for one.” Claude shrugged and let his gaze drift over to a bunch of offensively pink blooms. “And having more friends between our territories is never a bad idea.”

“More friends, huh?” Sylvain’s laugh made Claude feel like he’d said something too revealing. It was the same way he laughed after Felix made one of his snide comments. “You know what? Alright. I’m game. Ask whatever you want about Faerghus and I promise I won’t tattle to anyone. Let’s see what that devious brain of yours can cook up, Leader Man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being more of a filler chapter than I intended because there was so much setup to do and some loose ends to tie. Up next will be a bit of Rodrigue as well as the long-awaited chance for Claude and Dimitri to talk things over!


	12. Starlit Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodrigue comes to the Monastery. Claude finally finds time to talk with Dimitri.

Waiting alone on the ramparts of the monastery’s front gate while staring at a singed treeline that bled into the twilight was hardly Claude’s idea of a rousing evening, but he trusted Sylvain’s insistence that the only way to redirect Rodrigue from Dimitri was to beat the Church and the Kingdom to his arrival. Welcoming guests was the most important part of Faerghus hospitality. By controlling his first impression, Claude could cultivate a favorable view of himself to the most powerful man in the Kingdom save the crown prince himself.

With tensions high between the Kingdom and the Alliance while the war raged on, he couldn’t risk making an enemy of ‘The Shield of Faerghus’. Not even for Dimitri’s sake. And since Felix had scoffed when Claude suggested he put in a good word with his father, the Alliance leader had resolved once again to take matters into his own hands.

By the time Kingdom armor glinted through charred trunks, Claude’s eyes were at half-mast, admiring the waking stars as he hummed his favorite poem about them for the third time that evening. There in the distance, the banner of House Fraldarius blew in the wind. Showtime. He snapped to attention, hopping down the stairs and tapping the main gate guard’s shoulder on the way.

“Don’t worry about announcing this one. I got it. Just open her up, okay?” Claude hollered as he dashed past. He jumped over the railing to the ground below, his cape billowing behind him like a ribbon dancer’s wand.

Hail, bow, and offer respite. Sylvain had taught him the traditions from his bed. Claude’s nose had scrunched at the thought of performing such rigid formalities, but Sylvain only laughed, reminding him that Dimitri’s wellbeing was worth a few moments of acting like a fussy noble. 

By the end of the lesson, Claude had learned more than a few Faerghus customs. He’d also learned how much Sylvain despised being from a vaunted House, raised to produce these behaviors on command like a street performer’s pet. Claude would have fun exploring what that rebellious streak could mean for reforming Fodlan later.

For now, however, he couldn’t rock the boat if he wanted it to remain seaworthy until it reached the shore. As the thunder of hooves dulled to an impatient pawing and the gates fell open for the approaching riders, Claude raised his voice above the din.

“Well met attendants of House Fraldarius! I am Claude von Riegan, leader of the Leicester Alliance. I’d like to welcome you to Garreg Mach Monastery, bastion of the resistance against the Adrestrian Empire.”

He bent at the waist into a regal bow, held it for three agonizing seconds, then raised back to standing in time to watch an older, gentle-faced version of Felix dismount his steed. He wore the trappings of a faithful knight, one whose soul and blade had been pledged to the Goddess for many years. He oozed honor and chivalry and everything the storybooks Ashe had recommended to Claude rambled on about. 

If boys were doomed to become their fathers, watching Felix’s scathing disregard for everyone turn into this pious devotion would be the show of a lifetime. Claude wished he could have a front-row seat.

The noble gestured for his men to make themselves comfortable in the monastery, handing off their horses to be led to the stables and milling about the marketplace. He returned Claude’s bow. “I am Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius. It is a pleasure to meet you, Claude. I have heard much about your brilliant tactics in resisting the Empire’s advances. You have grown into quite a capable young man.”

‘Despite the stories I heard about you from my son’, Claude assumed. He grinned, spreading one arm wide to welcome Rodrigue into the monastery. “Thank you, Lord Fraldarius. I’m humbled by your praise. The Alliance is thrilled to have your aid, which is why I only thought it proper we welcome you personally.”

“It is we who should be thanking you for helping us retake Fhirdiad,” Rodrigue said, falling into step beside Claude as they advanced on the main hall.

“Think nothing of it. It is in the best interest of everyone.” The Alliance leader’s smile and fawning tone were painful to hold. Thank goodness none of the Alliance members were here to witness this or he’d never live it down.

Rodrigue didn’t appear to notice his discomfort, nodding along with a virtuous veneer that made Claude feel like a peasant beside him. “I received word that Prince Dimitri has been found. I would like to have an audience as soon as possible. It has been too many years since I’ve seen him.”

“You’ve heard correctly, but I’m afraid I will have to beg your patience,” Claude replied, wearing his best apologetic smile. “You see, he and I have official business to attend to tonight with regards to the liberation of Fhirdiad. We thought it would be wise to converse as leaders before the next war council to avoid unnecessary complications.”

Rodrigue’s eyebrows shot up. “So he has already taken control of Kingdom affairs again? That is a relief to hear. His Highness has always been a studious boy.”

“Indeed, he has.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, even if the thought of Dimitri having true control over anything right now, particularly himself, was a stretch. “Perhaps for tonight, you might visit the Church and other Kingdom officials? I don’t know if you’ve been informed that Margrave Gautier’s son was injured in the last battle while saving Prince Dimitri. I’m sure it would mean a great deal to him for you to visit.”

“Sylvain?” Claude nodded, prompting a sigh from Rodrigue. It seemed the redhead had a reputation so infamous, even a holy knight like Rodrigue couldn’t pretend he was above it. “It’s probably best I visit him first. Someone needs to keep an eye on him while his father is back home.”

“He’s in the infirmary. Do you know the way? I could get Felix to take you if…”

Rodrigue's laugh was sour. “Oh, I assure you my son has no desire to see me. I know the way.” His steps halted so he could bow again to Claude. “Thank you for everything, Duke Riegan. I hope your conversation with Prince Dimitri proves fruitful for all of us.”

“Likewise,” Claude replied, returning the bow.

He felt like such a pompous peacock puffing out his chest and giving flowery speeches. How Lorenz lived every day like this was a mystery he would never understand. Claude deflated as Rodrigue headed for the medical ward with clipped steps, shedding the false persona like a snake’s useless old skin.

He made for the stables without delay. If his calculations were correct, he had less than half an hour before the Kingdom got wind of Rodrigue’s arrival and started hunting for Dimitri to be present to greet him. If he was going to get the prince away for some damage control, it had to be now.

An enormous blue cloak topped with fur and a blond mane was waiting for him when he arrived at the horses. Dimitri’s armored hand stroked the neck of a dappled warhorse, his good eye fixing on Claude as he approached. “I take it you are the reason I’m here. Sylvain wasn’t forthcoming with details.”

“A good guess, Your Princeliness,” Claude chuckled. He sauntered over to a white mare, patting her on the snout before going in search of her riding tack. “I’m your rescue for the evening.”

“Rescue?”

The archer gave an exclamation of triumph as he pulled the black leather from the wall and began to saddle his horse. “Yes, rescue. Unless you’re going to try to convince me that you showed up at my door looking like a lost puppy the other night because you’re happy being the Kingdom’s golden boy.”

“It’s my duty,” Dimitri bit out.

“Which I’m sure Gilbert reminded you of every moment you dared to think of your own needs. He’ll be so disappointed to realize you’re still human like the rest of us,” Claude scoffed. 

The prince’s confusion coalesced into a stormy glower. “Gustave served my father as a paragon of knighthood for years. You shouldn’t speak of him that way.”

Claude tugged violently on a strap, causing his horse to pull back and shuffle its hooves. He needed to calm down. As much as Gilbert frustrated him with his dogma and zeal about dragging Dimitri into that slavery with him, if Claude lost his temper, he would lose Dimitri along with it. 

He sighed and softened his tone, “We both know you can’t keep on like this. Come for a ride with me. I won’t even make you discuss Fhirdiad if you don’t want to.”

Dimitri’s jaw clenched while the creaking of leather filled the air, the prince watching Claude finish preparing his horse. Claude tried not to focus on the minutes they had until Kingdom soldiers arrived slipping away. As long as Dimitri didn’t refuse to ride, this could still be salvaged. 

As the last straps were tightened, the prince finally spoke again, “You realize how much trouble you will invite if they find out.”

Claude flashed his cheekiest grin complete with a wink. “Since when has that ever stopped me? Besides, I plan to go whether you do or not. A soft-hearted sap like you would never let something bad happen to me by letting me go alone, right?”

Giving an exasperated sigh, Dimitri removed his own tack from the wall. Too easy.

Claude wondered how long it had been since the prince had last ridden. Sylvain had mentioned long rides had been Dimitri’s favorite way of escape when they were younger, but given how they found him, Claude doubted the man had been around domestic animals much in the past five years. 

“You could use to show your station more respect,” Dimitri grumbled, making quick work of saddling his steed. Whether or not he’d ridden recently, he hadn’t forgotten that much.

“And you could use to show yours less,” Claude shot back.

“Wasn’t this all part of your plan? Returning me to the life of nobility? I thought you wanted me to become King of Fodlan.”

“Who says the King of Fodlan needs to be a stiff?” Claude threw himself up into the saddle. “I think it’s important to have a sense of humor about things whatever your title. Don’t pretend you’re not capable of mischief. You grew up with Sylvain.”

Dimitri followed suit less gracefully, his heavier horse unbothered by the clumsy attempts to settle in. “Claude, I respect the seriousness of my position. Sylvain’s behavior is not an appropriate reflection of my feelings on how a noble should behave.”

“Maybe not. But I also know you wouldn’t put up with him, or me, if you didn’t enjoy a thrill now and then. For example...” His grin turned knife-sharp, emerald eyes sparkling like they so often did before war and responsibility dulled their shine. “...I bet you can’t keep up with me.”

A dig of his heels and he was gone, racing out the front gate and into the woods. Behind him, a curse and a clamor of heavier hoofbeats rode hard to overtake him.

The wind consumed Claude’s laughter as he barrelled on without direction or purpose. He had forgotten the rush of being untethered. When he was a young boy sick of responsibility, he’d slipped out like this often. He’d let the land flow past in a blur of green and gold while he stared at clear skies and wondered what it would be like if he could sprout wings and fly away from it all - his parents’ expectations, the jeering of his peers, and a place that didn’t want him. If he kept riding, would he find somewhere that felt like home? 

Claude had always been dragged back before he found out. Sometimes by guilt, sometimes by strong hands on the scruff of his neck. But for now, there was no one calling him to return. Only a prince nipping at his heels, boyish adventure gleaming in his eye.

He lost track of how long they continued like that, their steed’s hooves devouring the cobblestone, leaves, and grass beneath them while a celestial masterpiece was painted by parting clouds above their heads. They eventually slowed to a walk in a field far from the monastery grounds. It was empty out here, devoid of any sound but the whisper of wind and chirping of crickets. Claude closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of wildflowers and earth, giving silent thanks that humans and their wars hadn’t scarred this land yet.

Dimitri drew beside Claude without a word. When the archer glanced over, he saw the prince’s blue eye reflecting the moon, glowing as he stared up at the heavens. He was mouthing something in the darkness.

A quick hand tapped his elbow, hoping to startle him out of his reverie just in case he was talking to ghosts again. “You know it’s rude to say things under your breath in front of people.”

“Apologies,” Dimitri mumbled, looking away from the sky to address his companion. “I was naming the constellations. It is an old habit.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in cosmology.”

“I’m no scholar, but Blaiddyd’s crest has always been associated with stars. I had to learn them a long time ago.” He raised his right hand, drawing invisible shapes against the night sky. “Cephus, the great king. Pyxis, the wayfinder. Eridanus, the river of light. When I was a boy, my tutors told me that no matter how lost I was, the stars would always be there to guide me.”

“That makes sense. The stars are the same everywhere. It’s only the names that change.” Claude lifted his hand beside Dimitri’s, terrified at how calm he felt sharing something of his past he hadn’t given voice to in half a decade. He traced another series of shapes, capturing the same specks of light Dimitri had in new patterns. “Shagr, the lion. Varak, the ram. Khusak, the full harvest. Those were the ones I learned as a kid. The stars are a lot like people if you think about it. It’s only the boxes we define for them that make them look different.”

When he finished his explanation, that singular eye was sizing him up again. The stars blazed so brightly in it Claude could hardly see the frozen blue he knew would be there with the dawn. Claude awaited judgment, his fingers tangled in his horse’s mane, prepared to flee should the lion snap at him.

“I’ve often thought similarly,” Dimitri said simply. His shoulders heaved with the weight of that admission, eye drawn again to the boundless sky. “I believe I have a way to retake Fhirdiad.”

“Huh?” Claude blinked. His flighty instincts howled as he searched the prince’s empty expression for answers. “I mean, that’s great, but I’m not sure I follow what stars have to do with overcoming Cornelia’s armies.”

“It wasn’t the stars. Not directly, anyhow. It was what you said about people being the same if not for the labels we give each other. I believe human nature is more complicated than that, but I also believe that unless we are willing to take a leap of faith in the humanity of others, Fhirdiad will remain out of reach.” Tension rippled through the prince’s body. His proposal came like molasses, clinging to his teeth. “Cornelia is too powerful for us to take on alone. You’ve made that clear. That’s why we need to draw Cornelia’s forces out against the bulk of our army as a distraction. Then, if Duscur will aid us, we can use their knowledge of the underground to infiltrate the castle and eliminate Cornelia directly.”

Claude frowned, half-overheard conversations about Dedue’s people and their persecution floating to the top of his mind. “I can’t agree with that. If we make them help us take out the current ruler of Fhirdiad, Duscur will become a scapegoat for yet another coup within the Kingdom.”

“Not if I’m the one leading them,” Dimitri countered. “Rodrigue and Gustave could fly the banner of Blaiddyd and march on the capital while I speak with the remnants of Duscur privately. They would be my right hand in saving the Kingdom from its own tyranny.”

“...forcing the Kingdom to rethink its policy towards Duscur. A scheme so clever I’m hurt I didn’t think of it first,” Claude finished with a smirk.

“Unfortunately, there are two major problems with it.”

“It wouldn’t be worth doing if it were simple.”

Dimitri shook his mane and sighed. “These won’t be easy to overcome. The first is that Rodrigue and Gustave will never agree to this plan.”

“If they’re worried about the risk of sending you without the Blue Lion Corps, then I’ll go with you.” Truthfully, Claude had been hoping for an excuse to meet more people from Duscur before he returned to Almyra. It was hard to devise international policy when his knowledge of the world was still so limited. “I’m sure Felix would tag along, too, if only to get away from his father.”

“It isn’t just that. This mission...It would be like the one my father took on nine years ago.” 

Pain flickered over Dimitri’s face. His eye squeezed shut the way it did whenever the ghosts became unbearable, shouting their blame and bloodthirst in the prince’s ears. Claude leaned across the saddle to grasp Dimitri’s hand in his own, providing gentle pressure until the worst of it passed. He’d learned that with patience and something to ground him, the prince would eventually come back on his own.

“It was supposed to be a diplomatic mission,” Dimitri croaked out at last. “I was too young to know the details, but he was going to Duscur to prove they could be trusted. He wanted to reform our international policy. He wanted me to see it for my own eyes...so I could be a king like him one day.

“But the mission failed. The Kingdom blamed Duscur for the massacre against my father’s wishes. They wouldn’t listen that it wasn’t them I saw. It was  _ her _ and those damned flames burning everyone alive..!” Claude’s grip tightened on the edge of painful, reminding Dimitri of the point he was attempting to make.

The prince swallowed and started again. “The Kingdom blamed Duscur. But Rodrigue and Gustave didn’t. Gustave blamed himself. After years of service, he disappeared from the Kingdom, unable to face his failure to keep the king alive. Rodrigue tried to honor his promises to my father by taking me in, not realizing the harm it caused to Felix to have the reason for his brother’s death so close at hand. I don’t think Rodrigue ever forgave himself for not being able to talk the king out of going to Duscur either.

“So you see, they will not let me do this. And before you suggest it, I will not allow you to propose this plan in my place. The Kingdom needs to learn to respect you as I do, and if they believe you are threatening me, they will never be able to discard their prejudices.”

Respect. That was something Claude couldn’t fathom. He knew he was admired for his way with words, feared for his deception, and infamous for his insight, but respect as the prince meant it was too sweet a sentiment for someone as shifty as him. Trust Dimitri’s big, dopey heart to see him in a way no one else ever would. His affinity for compassion was as endearing as it was frustrating.

Claude followed Dimitri’s gaze to the stars so he didn’t keep searching the prince’s face for deceit that didn’t exist. “It isn’t like they can say no to you. You’re their leader. Isn’t that why all that famous Kingdom hierarchy exists?”

“That leads me to the other problem. I am only their leader as long as I plan to take the crown,” Dimitri informed him tersely. “If I am not king, then I forfeit my right to lead the Kingdom army. Also, any attempt to involve Duscur would position them as anarchists under the command of a militant vagrant, rather than allies to the throne.”

Claude grunted. “I see. Then it sounds like we’re back to the drawing board.”

Dimitri’s eye flew so wide it was mostly white. He snapped his head over his shoulder to stare at Claude, disbelieving. “You...aren’t going to tell me I need to take the crown again?”

Of course, Claude’s consciousness was screaming ‘do it!’ It would solve everything - retaking Fhirdiad, uniting Fodlan, opening borders - and all Dimitri had to do was claim his birthright. One small push here and every errant scheme would be back on track. His dreams were only a few simple words away.

But the tiny voice in the back of his mind, the one which asked him what cost he was willing to pay for his new world, whispered that no man deserved to control another’s life like that. Not even if it might save Fodlan.

Claude needed to have faith in the man he’d chosen as his champion.

“No,” he said, meeting Dimitri’s shocked expression with a serious one of his own. “I won’t tell you what to do. You deserve to make your own choice for once in your life. It doesn’t matter what the dead want, or what your people want, or what I want.” A resigned smile warmed his eyes. “What is it  _ you _ want, Dimitri?”

The prince couldn’t hold his gaze. He looked away, first to the earth, then to the sky, searching for an answer and permission to dream that could only come from within. Then, soft as a summer breeze, he whispered, “What I want...I want you to keep calling me Dimitri. After the war is over and you return to whatever life is waiting for you. Whether I am prince, or king, or vagabond, I want one person in this world to see me as a man rather than a symbol.”

That was not the answer Claude had expected. He swallowed a joke about not being able to get him to stop saying ‘Your Princeliness’ so easily.

“I can do that,” he murmured. “Although, I’m not sure I understand why it’s so important to you.”

Dimitri smiled, truly smiled, his eye full of stars and glinting with mischief. He patted Claude on the back and flicked his reins, urging his horse to trot in a wide circle and guide him back towards the monastery. “It’s only fitting I give you another mystery to ponder in payment for solving the one of Fhirdiad on your behalf.”

“Fhirdiad…?”

Gesturing towards the north, Dimitri raised his voice to that of a royal decree, carrying across the open plain with the wind and stars his witness. “We will go to Duscur. I will do what my father could not, or die trying.” 

Claude’s heart felt like it might burst through his chest. Is this what an answered prayer felt like to believers? He regained the prince’s side in a flurry of hooves, laughing the whole way. “Don’t think you can get away from me that easily. Have you forgotten my other promise already? I won’t let you die. You will do what your father couldn’t, and I’ll be there to see it happen, Dimitri.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update was a fast follow because I had originally intended to wrap it all into the last chapter. I'll be taking a little break to reply to your wonderful comments and take care of some real-life things now that this is out!
> 
> Also, I keep forgetting to post my inspiration songs as I go for readers who like that sort of thing. If anyone is really curious, I'd be happy to post some of the others from early on, but here's my current main one for Claude and Dimitri from this point onwards. 
> 
> Lapis Lazuli (EN): [Video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_de94rSr8m8) | [Lyrics](http://leeandlie.blogspot.com/2015/10/lapis-lazuli-english-lyrics.html)


	13. To Duscur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri and Claude travel to Duscur with a couple of companions. Dimitri tries to convince Duscur to help retake Fhirdiad.

For all that Claude found the Kingdom’s notions of hierarchy overbearing, it did make risky schemes easier to enact. Dimitri’s firm insistence that Duscur be involved in the retaking of Fhirdiad was all it took to set things into motion. Faerghus soldiers, desperate for a hero like Loog to free them from the Empire once again, would not disobey their rightful king.

That didn’t mean everyone was thrilled about the plan.

As anticipated, Rodrigue and Gilbert both voiced their misgivings in great detail. Most of it boiled down to them not approving of Dimitri traveling to Duscur alone. When the prince said Claude would be coming with him, the room erupted with objections. The Kingdom didn’t want Claude stealing Dimitri away again, while the Alliance didn’t like the idea of their leader putting himself at risk for what they considered a Kingdom affair. It took the better part of an afternoon to come to an agreement that left everyone mildly dissatisfied.

On the Alliance side, they demanded Claude take along at least two bodyguards. The Kingdom insisted those bodyguards be from Faerghus, citing the long journey through northern territories as reason for the restriction. Protecting someone was easier when you knew the lay of the land. Granted, it wasn’t the Alliance leader’s protection they were concerned about judging by the glares leveled at Claude while they spoke. 

Claude didn’t object. Fewer Alliance members with him meant more to handle Rodrigue, who would be leading the direct assault. That was exactly what Claude needed. He had intended to leave the Alliance solely in Lorenz’s hands if necessary since he was the most adept at Kingdom customs, but both House Gloucester and House Goneril keeping an eye on the Kingdom was a more secure diplomatic position. The Roundtable was already not happy about Claude focusing on Fhirdiad, considering it an unwelcome distraction from the continuing threat of Almyra and the Empire. If they felt the Kingdom had their hands too close to Alliance resources, there was a chance they might pull their support for Claude’s campaign altogether.

Thankfully, choosing his bodyguards was the least stressful part of their deliberation. Felix volunteered as soon as the opportunity presented itself with his trademark snide remarks about someone with a grain of sense needing to keep the two of them in line. Claude thanked him anyway and was surprised when Felix nodded instead of snapping at him. Rodrigue’s praise for nobly serving his king, on the other hand, was met with spitting about how he didn’t need or want his father’s approval.

For the second slot, Claude requested he be allowed to decide who filled it. Officially, his rationalization was that the Alliance had already conceded that the bodyguard would be from Faerghus, so he should at least have the freedom to choose someone he trusted. Unofficially, he didn’t want Ingrid along for this trip. They didn’t need the distraction of someone trying to supervise his every action; Felix and Dimitri’s inevitable squabbling would be bad enough without her constant critique. 

Claude didn’t find out until he was discussing final preparations with Dimitri that he needn’t have worried about her tagging along. Ingrid was one of the many Kingdom citizens who blamed Duscur for the Tragedy. Unless it was a direct order, she’d never offer to travel to their home, especially not to ask for help.

Claude hadn’t appreciated the full ambition of the prince’s plan until he heard that. If even one of Dimitri’s childhood friends distrusted Duscur that much, what would the rest of Faerghus’ citizens think when the king begged them for aid? 

Whether or not the liberation of Fhirdiad was successful, Dimitri’s reliance on Duscur could weaken his standing among the people as much as it might strengthen Duscur’s. It was the same dilemma that had stayed Claude’s hand from pressuring the Alliance too much to improve relations with Almyra. If he was too aggressive, there was a chance he’d ruin the name of House Riegan and fracture the already divided other houses. The difference with Dimitri was that he’d run out of other cards to play.

And he called Claude the risk-taker.

In the end, Claude chose Ashe as his other personal guard, much to the silver-haired man’s surprise. Since the main army needed their mages and Sylvain couldn’t make that kind of trip without help, Ashe was the only Kingdom soldier Claude trusted to work with him. He also knew about the life of commoners, which from Claude’s understanding was much closer to Duscur than the nobility. And if things really went sour, he could pick the lock of any jail cell they landed in.

So the four of them set out later that week, making the long trek north through the western territories officially under Empire control. Claude would have liked to take his wyvern, cutting almost a full day off their journey, but discretion was more important than speed. Faerghus was a land filled with knights and horsemen, so that’s what they would look need to look like in case anyone else off the beaten path got curious.

Felix and Dimitri spoke little while they rode. It was probably better for everyone, but the silence left Claude restless. He spent the days making small talk with Ashe about everything from bow maintenance in cold climates to the merits of local cuisine. Neither Dimitri nor Felix stopped the chatter, which Claude took as tacit approval. He had hoped Dimitri would be more forthcoming around the others, maybe even smile again, but the mission at hand seemed to consume his waking hours. At least he was sleeping when they made camp.

As they drew nearer to the border, the temperature plummeted. Most of Faerghus was cold, enough so that Claude’s thickest clothes barely kept out the chill, but the mountains outside of Duscur were like an arctic wasteland. No wonder all the Kingdom soldiers had fur-lined outfits in their wardrobe.

“I thought Duscur was supposed to be arid like parts of Almyra,” Claude muttered through chattering teeth. “Why is it so cold here?”

Regarding his shivering charge with doe-soft eyes, Ashe dug through his saddlebag and retrieved what looked like a thick blue blanket lined with mottled wolf fur. He held it out for Claude to take. “Most of Duscur is more hospitable according to…” He glanced at Dimitri several horse lengths in front of them and thought better of saying the name. “...you know. I think it gets warmer on the other side of the mountains. Here. I brought an extra just in case.”

It took Claude a minute of fumbling to unfold the fabric, revealing a small, metal gryphon clasp inside. A cloak and not a blanket, then. Maneuvering the volumes of wool and fur to sit on his shoulders without stopping their march was a daunting task. It almost ended with his horse careening off the trail when a hard toss of fabric fell over the steed’s ears and nearly got wrapped around a leg.

“What are you two doing? You’re going to get yourself killed like that, ” Felix groaned from in front of them, alerted by Ashe’s yelp. He fell back to ride alongside Claude, boxing in the horse and yanking the cloak away to save it from the other man’s dangerous flailing. He grabbed it by the clasp and held it out, the garment’s natural drape over his hand making it obvious which end was up. “Let the weight of the cloak do the work for you. If you keep lashing about you’re going to spook your horse and end up in the creek. I don’t want to deal with you getting hypothermia.”

Claude laughed and grinned in the face of Felix’s glare like he’d often seen Sylvain do. He took his gift from Ashe back. “Hey, that’s pretty smart. Thanks for the help, Felix. Don’t know what I’d do without you here to keep me safe.”

“Just don’t do it again.” The swordsman spurred his horse forward to retake his place trailing at Dimitri’s heels.

“I’m so sorry,” Ashe whispered to Claude once Felix was out of earshot. “I should have unfolded it for you. I didn’t even think that you might not be used to putting a cloak on while riding over in the Alliance.”

“Don’t sweat it, Ashe. If I was afraid of making a fool of myself, I’d never learn anything new. Besides, I’m pretty sure I’d be freezing to death before we found anyone from Duscur if you hadn’t thought to bring it.”

Now able to distinguish the top and bottom, Claude hefted the garment over his shoulders. It was heavy, heavy enough that shooting his bow would be a strain while wearing it, but the luscious fur and cozy woolen weave felt like getting a hug from a bear. Not an angry, squeeze you until you pass out kind of bear, but a cuddly one like the stuffed bear Raphael had tried to give Marianne that was almost the same size as him.

“What do you think?” he said, toying with the clasp at his neck to get the distribution right across his shoulders.

Ashe’s smile lit up his youthful face. “I think it suits you. You know, dressed like that, you remind me of one of the characters from this new book I’m reading. He’s a pirate captain with a heart of gold who travels the world.” 

Claude was struck by a sudden powerful desire to ruffle the other archer’s hair. Ashe might not have been that much younger than the rest of them, but something about his infectious enthusiasm made Claude feel like he should grin and call him ‘kiddo’.

When Claude realized that’s how the adults in his life saw him, too, the urge disappeared.

“Sounds like an interesting book. You mind sharing it when you’re done?”

“I’d be happy to! I really think you’ll like him. He’s cunning and brave, and he tricks people into doing the right thing, especially corrupt nobles. I usually prefer chivalrous heroes, but I don’t know...I guess I appreciate that he does so many virtuous things even though he’s a criminal. It’s nice that...”

“We’re here!” Dimitri called, drowning out their conversation. 

They shared a nod, dropping the topic in favor of speeding up to join the prince. He’d already dismounted far ahead, tying his horse to a tree at the edge of what once might have been a thriving village. The others followed suit.

So this was what remained of Duscur’s outskirts.

Charcoal boxes, once houses large enough to accommodate entire families, lined the edges of a wide path that was more weeds and pulverized stone than road. An oppressive silence hounded the ambassadors’ footsteps. There were no kids playing outside or hearty arguments between merchants and farmers bartering goods. What buildings remained shut their doors at the arrival of Kingdom colors, mistrustful eyes watching from dilapidated windows with brooms and felling axes gripped like weapons for comfort. Deeper in the valley, several women and their children toiled in barren fields, harvesting whatever they could find that the cold and vermin hadn’t already claimed.

Claude’s stomach churned. He didn’t know what he expected to find. Beholding the devastation wrought by the Kingdom on these people, still present after nearly a decade, a seed of fear sprouted in his heart. 

What magnitude of hatred would it have taken to tear down an entire civilization like this? And how much hatred had that bred in return?

His answer came in the form of a man blocking their path. His body was all sinew like he survived on grit from the mines instead of food. Soot blackened his already dark complexion and Kingdom-style linens, no sign of his Duscur heritage visible in his dress or hairstyle. When he spoke it was contemptuous but not deliberately rude, as though he couldn’t decide whether to spit in their faces or cower for fear of retribution.

“Our shipment isn’t due for another week,” he said, planting himself firmly in their way.

Dimitri held his hand out to stop the other three men behind him. He stepped forward alone. “Be at peace, good sir. We are not here to demand your tribute on Cornelia’s behalf. Far from it.” He bowed at the waist, as deep as he would to any nobleman. “I am Prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, the rightful king of Faerghus. I’ve come to request your aid.”

The man stared blankly for a full minute, expecting more to follow. When nothing came, he burst out laughing, teeth gnashing as though this was some sick joke. “You want  _ our _ help?”

“Yes,” Dimitri continued, solemn as ever. “We need your knowledge of Fhirdiad’s defenses and your men to overthrow Cornelia. If she is allowed to continue her reign, chaos will continue to spread throughout the region. The Kingdom may collapse completely.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

The prince’s nostrils flared. “If the Kingdom falls, all of Duscur falls with it.”

“Duscur’s already gone,” the man sneered. He threw his hands open to indicate the decrepit village around him. “It doesn’t matter if it’s the Kingdom or the Empire. We’ll be forced to work the mines to fight their wars all the same.”

“If I’m able to take the throne, it would be different. I swear to you, Duscur would be brought to stand equal with the rest of Faerghus, and your part in liberating Fhirdiad would be all the reason we need for that.”

“We don’t need your pity, prince.” The man’s arms crossed again, chin lifted like he was the royal one. “Your people murdered our families and burned our villages. You may think we’re simple folk, but we’re not stupid. We aren’t throwing our lives away for some Kingdom-loving  _ noble _ .”

“If you would just let me explain…”

“No. Let me explain something to you.” He sauntered forward, emboldened by Dimitri’s pleading. At Claude’s right, Felix laid a hand on his sword in warning, and the man stopped his advance. “You’re as bad as the rest of ‘em. Another noble telling us we’ve gotta help ‘for our own good’. We owe you  _ nothing,  _ prince. When we get justice, it will be something we take with our own hands. We don’t need someone like you to be our savior.”

Tension coiled between the two like a snake preparing to strike. Dimitri’s breaths became labored, his fur collar quivering in the frigid mountain air.

“Come on, Dimitri,” Claude murmured, too afraid to step forward lest it start a bloodbath, though he was uncertain who would strike first. “We have other options. Let’s leave these people in peace.”

The prince shook his head slowly. Like a puppet whose strings were being cut one by one, he dropped to a knee, then both, lowering his head to the humble miner from Duscur who stood in his path.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. His voice had lost its regal presence. “I am sorry for my arrogance. I thought to come here as a prince granting boons to his suffering people. I believed I was doing Duscur a grand favor by promising a better life under my reign. I assumed you should be grateful to serve me rather than her. But you are right. You do not need someone like me to save you.”

Dimitri’s palms pressed into the gravel, ignoring Ashe’s scandalized gasp. He prostrated himself like a peasant before a king, long hair dragging through the dust as he honored the startled man still standing before him.

“It is I who need you to save me. I can make offers of land and autonomy and riches, but you have every right not to believe me. I do not ask for your forgiveness. All I can do is beg for your mercy and pray you will show the humanity my people never did to you.”

“That is enough, Your Highness. Please stand.”

The prince didn’t move at the all-too-familiar voice. Around him, the other soldiers spun on their toes, hands hovering near their weapons.

The unmistakable silhouette of a man built like a fortress approached from the west.

“Dedue? Is that really you?” Ashe squeaked. His grin looked about to split his face in two.

Suddenly realizing what he heard wasn’t another figment of his not-yet-healed mind, Dimitri’s head snapped up and whirled over his left shoulder. A single wide, blue eye stared into the warm grey ones which had haunted his waking nightmares for the past five years.

“Dedue...you’re...alive?”

Dedue nodded once and extended his hand. “I am. Now please. Before you sully your clothes further.”

If he noticed the tears falling freely down Dimitri’s face as he latched onto his old retainer as though he might disappear, Dedue said nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how I said something like five chapters ago we were halfway through? I was very wrong because my chapters keep splitting, whoops. In any case, we should only be another couple chapters from the big battle to retake Fhirdiad, and then it will be onto the mad rush to deal with Edelgard/TWSITD.
> 
> Thank you again for sticking with me through this journey and the enthusiastic comments! They really are so helpful in keeping my motivation going when writing something this long. <3


	14. A New Scheme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedue welcomes unexpected guests back to his home. They discuss how to retake Fhirdaid, among other things.

Dedue’s shack was not far away, humble yet functional like the man himself. The weathered structure, untouched by the flames which had leveled this village nine years ago, took no more space than their rooms at the academy. A thin cot had been rolled up in the far corner, while the only wall without doors or windows housed a fireplace and a dining set for one made of scrap wood. Herbs native to Duscur, presumably picked from the pair of planters Dedue kept by a window, hung over a pile of crude metal pots for cooking. The luscious green of his well-tended plants was the only sign of vitality Claude had seen in the entire village.

Dedue bid Dimitri sit in the single wooden chair that rested by the unlit fireplace. A frigid draft blew through the poorly sealed room, stirring their cloaks. Claude shivered, pulling his new furs tighter around himself.

“I’ll get us firewood before we freeze,” Felix informed them. When no objections followed, he marched out the door, snatching the hatchet resting by the doorframe on his way out.

Claude couldn’t blame him for wanting to get away. As good as it was to see Dedue alive and well, there was too much to process for all of them.

Dimitri on his knees. That was a sight Claude wouldn’t have thought possible a couple of months ago unless it involved a sword through the prince’s heart. For a king to lower himself and beg at the feet of a peasant was an objectively ludicrous ploy. Garnering favor with false humility never ended well.

But it hadn’t been false, had it?

That’s what fascinated Claude the most about all of it. Dimitri didn’t deceive people. When he loved something, and oh how easily he loved, he would sacrifice his very soul to see them thrive. It was exactly what he had done the past five years. He tossed away his mind, his ambition, and his very life for the sake of the fallen he loved too much to forget.

Claude could scarcely fathom the idea. To take on blame that was not his own - that was what he had fought against for the past decade.

And yet, seeing the prince discard his pride before Duscur, Claude began to wonder: would peace between all nations ever be possible without people like Dimitri? If everyone only protected their perceived own best interests, how could they ever move forward? 

The clang of pots being unstacked rudely interrupted Claude’s thoughts. Dedue was kneeling beside the fireplace, withdrawing a tall teapot with a long, curved spout from his pile of cooking vessels.

Ashe swiped it from his hands before he could stand. “You need some water from the well out back, right? I’ll go fetch it.”

“Are you certain, Ashe? The people of Duscur may not welcome a Kingdom soldier near their water,” Dedue warned.

A flighty laugh answered him. “Oh, don’t worry about me, I’m used to getting water without drawing too much attention. Besides, you should spend more time with His Highness. We’ve all missed you.”

Dedue’s impassive expression softened at the tenderness in Ashe’s voice. He nodded toward the young archer. “I have missed you as well.”

He might as well have been confessing his love to a life long admirer with how Ashe’s smile glowed. Grinning on his way out of the shack, the young man went in search of water, pot firmly in hand. The muffled sound of an ax cracking wood wafted through the open door until it drifted shut.

Then there were three.

“I was not expecting to see you with His Highness,” Dedue said, rising from the floor. Claude had forgotten how massive the man was. Unlike Dimitri’s unexpected growth spurt, Dedue had always been an impenetrable wall of muscle, even five years ago.

Claude laughed in what he hoped was a disarming manner. Dedue didn’t have many tells for him to work off of. “What’s the saying? The enemy of my enemy is my friend? The Alliance needs a hand with the Empire. I’m here to make sure His Princeliness here gets his country back, so he can help us out.”

“Claude is being withholding as always,” Dimitri cut in, staring at the ash in the fireplace rather than either of them. “I owe him my life. Many times over.”

“Then you have my eternal gratitude, Claude.” Dedue’s bow was the deep one he usually reserved for his prince.

Nothing tied Claude’s tongue faster than these self-effacing gestures of gratitude everyone in Faerghus seemed so fond of. He huddled further beneath his cloak, hiding his uneasy laugh behind a cough. “All that aside, how long have you been out here? We all thought you were dead.”

“Five years,” the returned ghost said, crossing his arms across his chest. “I have been awaiting His Highness’s return.”

Dimitri’s voice cracked beneath the weight of his protest, “That’s impossible. When you dragged me from that cell on the day of my sentence...I saw them cut into you as I fled.”

“It was not an easy fight.” Dark hands traced one of the new scars on his face. He bore so many more these days, as did they all. “But you said I must survive. I obeyed your order to the best of my abilities. I am sorry I could not follow you, Your Highness. By the time my injuries were healed enough to travel, I could not find your trail, so I took up residence with my people.”

“It is not you who needs to apologize,” Dimitri whispered. His eye lifted to seek out his retainer, dark as the ocean’s depths. “You sacrificed everything for me. It is because of me you were injured. Because of me, you’re living here like this instead of with every comfort you and your people deserve. I abandoned you after you laid down your life for me.” His breath hitched. “I do not deserve you, Dedue, nor your forgiveness.”

The broad shadow of the man he had viewed as savior and tormentor for the past five years loomed over Dimitri. Dedue did not stoop to comfort him, nor sneer at his display of emotion. He looked down upon his liege with crossed arms and a tired frown.

“Your guilt is misplaced, Your Highness,” he said.

“What?” Dimitri breathed.

“You act as though you are to blame for my actions. However, it was my choice to save you. There is nothing you could have done to dissuade me.”

“But if not for me…”

Dedue interrupted, stern yet not unkind. “Then I would have died like the rest of my people. You bear the scars of saving me proudly. I would do the same for you.”

Uncomprehending, Dimitri’s brow furrowed as his mind swirled to make sense of the devotion this man before him carried. Claude knew the storm in his eye well by now. It was the same he’d braved the first time Claude approached him with a deal, and once it subsided the prince had learned to trust in another, if only for their greed. Later, it had resurfaced when Claude challenged Dimitri’s deathwish. When that passed, he had regained his sense of duty to his people. It had even flashed ever so briefly through Dimitri’s eye when they stared up at the stars together, reminded of the dreams that would lead him to his crown.

Now Dimitri faced a new storm. A dare to accept the sacrifices of those around him made of their own free will, just as he would sacrifice everything for their sake. It was something only another selfless man, someone like Dedue, could hope to understand.

Claude could never have been the one to teach him this lesson. 

The charged atmosphere was broken by Felix returning, arms full of finely chopped firewood, as though he’d taken a few too many swings to stall his return. He dumped it next to the fireplace, letting Dedue draw away from his liege to begin building the fire.

“Well?” Felix prompted impatiently, looking directly at Claude rather than the distant prince. “Have you figured out how to retake Fhirdiad?”

Claude suspected any mention of Dimitri’s vulnerability after finding Dedue would not go over well with the swordsman. If there was one thing Felix detested, it was being reminded of emotion rather than barreling through it. Luckily for Dimitri, Claude was an expert at talking his way around uncomfortable situations.

He made a show of shivering hard enough that his voice shook. “Sorry, Felix. I don’t do well with this whole ‘so cold I can feel icicles forming in my nose’ weather you’re so fond of in Faerghus. I think all the gears in my brain have frozen over.”

Stirred from his contemplation by the sound of someone in need, Dimitri looked over at Claude. He watched the quaking of the Alliance leader’s limbs hidden by heavy wool. Immediately, the prince’s hands went to the clasp of his own cloak, taking Claude’s words about the chill at face value in that damnably earnest way of his that made Felix look ready to retch. 

“Why didn’t you mention you were still so cold? I am accustomed to these temperatures. Here, take this…” he said, unfastening his furs to give to Claude. The archer stopped him with a cloak-covered hand coming to rest over the prince’s.

“No, no, no need for that. I’ll be just fine once the fire’s going. Keep your cloak, Dimitri,” Claude reassured him with a quick pat on the back of his hands. Dimitri frowned, unconvinced, but nodded and released his grip on the heavy fur to allow Claude his pride. Claude offered a small smile in thanks.

When he finally looked away from the prince, Dedue was staring at him oddly. Or maybe he was staring past him because Ashe walked through the door behind him not a moment later, pot full of water and busy bee nature sending him right to work at their host’s side. Within minutes they had a respectable fire going, the water prepared for boiling while Ashe searched Dedue’s house for bowls and cups that could be used to drink tea. Claude plopped beside the fire, waiting impatiently for its warmth to penetrate his layers of clothing.

“That’s better,” he said with a content sigh, even though it really wasn’t yet. “Now, about Fhirdiad. I don’t know how much you heard us say, Dedue, but we’re here because we need some help from Duscur. We’ve got a big distraction riding in at the end of the month to keep Cornelia busy, which frees us up to sneak into the castle and get rid of her. However, no one who’s allied with us currently seems to know anything about the state of the palace. Any chance you’ve been doing some intel these past five years?”

Dedue nodded like it was only natural. “Yes. I had faith His Highness would return. I have been watching Cornelia’s movements closely since then, just as I did to stave off his execution.”

“And?”

“It is possible to enter the stronghold of the castle by breaking through only a few locks. There is a passage beneath the eastern wall that is poorly guarded.”

“I can take care of the locks,” Ashe assured them, taking the steaming water from the fire to pour into the series of mismatched containers he’d found. “But it can’t be that easy can it?”

“She also has a battalion of personal archers she keeps with her at all times. They are known for their accuracy,” Dedue continued. He plucked a series of leaves from overhead, walking over to Ashe’s side and dropping them in the individual cups and bowls. “But you are correct, Ashe, it is not that easy.”

Felix sliced his hand through the air. “Get on with it.”

Dedue’s movements and words slowed, as if in defiance of Felix’s command. Cautiously, he pressed on, “There have been...strange reports. They say she does not need men to protect her. She has used the Empire’s influence to build new weapons. Magical turrets that fire without mages. Metal knights the size of houses that come alive without anyone ordering them. My people do not understand how they work, but I trust they tell the truth.”

“War machines that work on their own? I don’t know much about magic, but that sounds impossible,” Ashe murmured, staring into the tea he stirred.

“Does it sound more impossible than turning people into monsters or a javelin falling from the sky and obliterating Fort Merceus?” Felix countered. “Whatever the Empire is up to, they aren’t playing by our rules.”

“Then it is time we level the playing field,” Dimitri growled. The light of the fire reflected in his eye consumed its blue in a golden blaze.

“And how do you presume we do that, boar? If we charge in blindly, it’ll get us all killed.”

“Actually, I think Dimitri has the right idea,” Claude interjected, emphasizing the prince’s name in place of derailing their conversation with another reprimand for Felix. “Our troops are on the move already. If we play this defensively, the Empire will only use the time to develop more weapons until we’re overwhelmed. What we need to do is strike decisively, just as we originally planned.”

Felix scowled. “If these things are anything like the javelin…”

“Then I know exactly what we need to do,” Claude finished, his face slowly splitting into a devilish grin. He could feel the start of a new scheme brewing in his gut. “Our biggest problem since starting this war has been that we’ve been fighting blind. We haven’t been able to get close enough to Enbarr to figure out how the Empire is making these sorts of weapons. But this time, we have the drop on them. All we need to do is lure her into attacking the wrong targets, we’ll get a chance to see what they’re capable of, and our favorite prince here will be able to take out Cornelia, unprotected.”

“Wrong targets? You can’t mean…” Ashe murmured. His fingers slipped from the cup he was handing to Felix.

The swordsman’s quick reflexes caught it before it hit the floor. “Don’t act so surprised. Of course, he wants to use us as bait.”

“Myself included,” Claude said, taking a bowl of tea and breathing it in. He welcomed the steam warming his face and opening his sinuses. “It isn’t as though we have a lot of options. If she’s got weapons, we need them pointed away from whoever is going after her.” He blew across the piping hot liquid. “But I think, if we do this right, we can win an even bigger victory than just regaining Fhirdiad.”

Dimitri regarded him curiously, not bothering with his own tea. “What is it you’re scheming this time?”

Claude ignored him in favor of twisting over his other shoulder. “Hey, Dedue? Do you happen to have anyone who can get a message to the Kingdom and Alliance forces in a couple of days?”

“I believe so. What message do they need to deliver?”

“Tell them to send Lysithea to us as fast as they can,” Claude said, his eyes glimmering in the low light. “When we retake Fhirdiad, we’re going to get to the bottom of this mysterious Imperial magic.”


	15. Fhirdiad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The liberation of Fhirdiad begins. Cornelia has some surprises for them.

The days that followed their call for aid were agony, as much from the waiting as the biting cold. A storm rolled through Faerghus. Its fearsome wind and blinding snow forced them away from Duscur and towards the capital earlier than expected. With a strict timetable to coincide with the Kingdom and Alliance’s march happening on the other side of the country, they couldn’t risk waiting out bad weather that might last for weeks. The five men and a handful of Duscur freedom fighters set out for their rendezvous point near Fhirdiad before Claude had spent more than two nights gaining a newfound appreciation for the phrase ‘sleeping on the cold, hard ground’.

The early start proved a boon. The road to Fhirdiad was longer and more difficult than anticipated, delayed several times by the bandits who ran rampant under the rule of Cornelia. Their band arrived with scarcely a day to spare, setting up camp in the forest a few hours walk from the eastern wall of town.

It was that evening the distant rumble of a horse’s hooves warned them someone had found their location. With the help of a well-placed rope and a boost from Dedue, Claude dragged himself onto what he hoped was a sturdy tree limb to act as lookout, wondering how Petra had always made it look so easy. Even up this high, it was hard to see much through the heavy foliage. Splashes of black, auburn and white flickered between the branches, reminiscent of Imperial colors but less vivid.

“Is that...Sylvain and Lysithea?” Ashe whispered from a branch on the other side of the tree. He’d scrambled up with the ease of a boy who’d once scaled buildings for his livelihood instead of making war.

On the ground, Felix answered the question for both of them. He charged into the open, shouting a few choice insults about the intelligence of riding cross-country with two injured legs at the rider. Sylvain’s vivacious laughter echoed off the trees. By the time Claude had gotten his feet back on solid earth, Lysithea was making a beeline for him while Felix and Ashe tried to loose the knight from where he’d literally strapped himself into the saddle.

“I didn’t think he could ride until he was healed,” Claude commented as the mage got within earshot. He winced when Sylvain tried to dismount by swinging a freed leg over his steed’s back and ended up a pile of limbs in the dirt.

Lysithea snorted, casting a disparaging look over her shoulder at the three men trying to move the knight to a sitting position against a nearby tree. “Apparently, he’s more pigheaded than he is injured. He’s also nearly as good at making people do what he wants as you are.”

“Hold on. Was that a  _ compliment _ ?” Claude fished.

“Pretending you don’t know your own strengths isn’t an attractive quality,” Lysithea deadpanned, looking him in the eye. Her gaze drifted back to the struggling knight as she continued, “Sylvain managed to convince the healers that since he wouldn’t be of much use in the battle and was one of their fastest riders, he should be the one to bring me here. His company was...not as unpleasant as I expected.”

Claude grinned in a way he knew was likely to get him slapped. “Would you look at that...little Lysithea is all grown up, enjoying getting hit on. If you need some dating advice I…”

“If  _ you  _ want to keep your fingers for the battle tomorrow, I would not finish that sentence,” she interrupted. Claude’s jaw snapped shut before he accidentally commented on how cute it was that, even as a woman, she still puffed up like a kitten when she was angry. “Now, I don’t believe you would have summoned me here at the eleventh hour if you didn’t need me for something important. We should discuss our plan of attack for tomorrow.”

As swift as an arrow, the atmosphere between them shifted from playful to somber. “Of course. I’ll tell you everything we know.”

By the end of the evening, Lysithea agreed that whatever magical abominations the Empire was housing in Fhirdiad, they were probably related to the javelins of light and the shadowy figures they suspected had been supplying the Empire with weapons for their war on Fodlan. Unfortunately, without any physical samples to experiment on, she and Annette hadn’t made much progress in reverse engineering their inventions over the past month. Their research had borne only one fruit thus far - a spell to identify and track that brand of odious magic used by the Empire. 

Claude and Lysithea made a private agreement. While recapturing the Kingdom's capital remained the army’s primary objective, theirs would be to get a reading on whatever weapons the Empire had inside before they were destroyed. If the things waiting for them in Fhirdiad had any tie to the weapons that destroyed Fort Merceus or the people who forced a second crest upon Lysithea, they would know. And once Fhirdiad was theirs, they would end this war by cutting out the heart of the Empire’s power.

The following morning slogged long past its welcome. The anticipation of battle bred restlessness, and among soldiers, that meant performing well-worn rituals to keep their minds clear of what-ifs. 

Dedue shadowed Dimitri’s steps as he checked in on their companions from Duscur and assessed their stock of weapons. Lysithea reviewed her notes for the hundredth time, adding neat boxes to the margins for whatever they learned today. Ashe kept his eyes on Fhirdiad as the shadows from the rising sun played like stained glass upon the forest floor, his hands folded in prayer. Felix stayed by Sylvain’s side as he sharpened his sword, the rhythmic scrape of metal and stone louder than any conversation that passed between them.

Claude thought he heard something about keeping a promise as he wandered past, his thoughts mostly tangled up in the battle to come. Felix lurched to his feet with a huff.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he grumbled at the redhead, sheathing his sword and stomping off.

Sylvain laughed glumly and rocked his head over to look at Claude, who had come to an abrupt halt to avoid Felix marching through him to get wherever he was going. “Oh, hey there, Leader Man. Don’t mind him. Pre-battle jitters.”

Claude groaned, running a hand through his hopelessly messy hair. “Do you really need to call me that? Your actual leader is here now.”

“Are you kidding? I already get enough lectures from His Highness as it is,” Sylvain chuckled. Claude laughed with him, wordlessly agreeing. 

An errant memory of the last time they’d had this discussion, half a month ago when Rodrigue came to see Dimitri, passed between them. Suddenly, Sylvain’s lips flattened to a tight line and his eyes hardened from honey to crystalline amber.

Claude’s eyebrow raised. “What’s that look for?”

“...Protect them, alright?” Sylvain muttered. 

There he was again - the jaded man whose life had been wrecked by others’ lust for power rather than the frivolous skirt-chaser. Claude could only imagine how difficult today must be for someone so recklessly loyal. Doomed to know his friends were fighting for their lives, hearing their screams on the horizon, yet being powerless to do anything but wait in the woods for it to pass like a child hiding in their room while their parents’ shouts carried through the walls. He wondered if Sylvain believed in the Goddess enough to pray.

“I haven’t dragged the Kingdom and the Alliance across the entire continent just to get everyone killed. Not intentionally, anyway,” Claude said. He clapped Sylvain on the shoulder. “If there’s a way to bring them home, I’ll find it.”

He was rewarded with a lopsided smile. “Ha, would you look at that. You’re shaping up to be a pretty good friend. I knew you had it in you.”

Friend. 

Claude had thrown that word around with no regard to its weight for years. In his book, friends were people who made for decent conversation and wouldn’t stab you in the back without a good reason. However, this past month had taught him the Blue Lion pride had a significantly higher bar for the title. Forged through shared hardship, to them, a friend was someone you lived for. You helped them, whether they asked for it or not. You protected them at any cost.

It was humbling to hear Sylvain call him ‘friend’ so casually. Frightening, too.

“I think you may have the wrong guy. You’re talking like I’m some sort of brilliant war hero instead of a schemer who’s in this for himself,” Claude said, squeezing out a flippant wink and laugh.

Answering with his own unamused bark of laughter, Sylvain’s eyes gleamed in the light of dawn. “Maybe that’s because you’re starting to act like one.” 

Dimitri’s call to arms cut off anything else he was going to say. Their infiltration of Fhirdiad was about to begin. 

“That’s your cue, Leader Man.”

“I told you not to call me that,” Claude muttered, taking his leave with a wave. 

He wasn’t cruel enough to remind Sylvain that he should run if he didn’t see the banners of House Blaiddyd flying again by evening. There was no way he’d listen anyway.

In a small token of good fortune, the tunnels beneath Fhirdiad were as poorly guarded as Dedue had led them to believe. With no one manning the gate, Ashe’s lockpicks made quick work of the padlock and chains, and their strike force was on their way without anyone from the Empire seeing them.

Unfortunately, what Dedue had failed to mention about the tunnel was the odor ten times as pungent as a horse’s stable that had been left unattended for a month. It assaulted their senses as they crept along the wall, following a tiny trail of dry ground next to a manmade river of filth. If it wasn’t imperative they stay silent until they got in position, Claude would have been on his knees, adding to it with full-body heaves. Instead, he plugged his nose, praying the stench could be washed from their furs after Fhirdiad had been won.

Mercifully, the route to the stronghold was a short one. Within a quarter of an hour, they had reached a set of stairs that rose up to a steel access gate held shut with another large lock. Still no guards in sight. Ashe took point, releasing the lock with a barely audible clink. He tried to ease it open slowly enough that the hinges didn’t squeal.

“Intruders!” someone screamed outside.

Claude’s heart thudded in his throat. He felt like he used to skipping out on classes as a kid, knowing if a tutor caught him he’d relearn the joys of rope burn and gravel roads. His legs ached with the urge to run.

Ashe calmly waved the whole party back to the shadows, holding a finger to his lips.

“It’s House Blaiddyd and the Alliance! They’re in the city!” another voice yelled. “The citizens are going mad! What do we do?”

A haughty, feminine laugh carried across the stronghold. “That’s simple. I want you all in the streets, putting down the army’s elite forces.”

“But the people are rebelling…!”

“Then if they get in your way, kill them. There is no time for mercy. That little brat escaped his execution once. I will not let it happen again.”

“Cornelia…”

“What are you doing still here? I gave you your orders. Go!”

The infiltrators held their breath with backs pressed to the wall as armored feet ran past their hiding spot. Once the footsteps faded, leaving only the low rumble of war raging outside the walls like a distant thunderstorm, Ashe checked for any stragglers. He looked to his prince, who nodded.

Time to put their plan in motion.

Dimitri lagged back, out of sight, while the rest of the party advanced. Dedue and his men from Duscur snuck along the western wall, while Ashe and Felix took the north. Claude and Lysithea slid to the south, preparing to lead their plot to expose Cornelia.

One minute. That was how long they had to get into position. Claude mouthed the seconds, counting time on his fingers behind his back where Lysithea could see. The tingle of a scheme on the brink crawled up his body like a determined spider, standing his hair on end.

_ Thirty _ . 

Claude’s toes flexed in his boots.

_ Twenty _ .

An arrow rolled between his fingers.

_ Ten _ .

He circled his shoulders, ready to draw his bow.

_ Three _ .  _ Two. One... _

His breath stalled.

_ Zero _ .

Claude stepped into the open.

He didn’t have to search to find what they’d come for. A barricade of mechanized monsters stood two stories tall at the top of a flight of stairs immediately in front of him. The ominous hunks of metal, shaped like suits of armor, surrounded every side of the platform. Behind them waited Cornelia and her fleet of archers.

Her dead eyes locked with Claude’s, head gradually cocking like an owl eyeing a mouse. 

“How did vermin get into my palace?” She wondered. Her lips parted into a wicked grin. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. You’ll make a good lab rat.”

She raised her arms, and the stronghold exploded.

Several hundred tons of something akin to steel burst to life around her. They wailed like a horde of banshees as magic arced across metal. An eerie blue glow bloomed from gaps within their armor as they drew unnatural breaths for bodies that had no lungs. They raised their slotted shields, each large enough to side a house, and advanced. 

Claude expelled a wordless shout for the others to charge. Dedue crashed into one of the monstrosities to his left, his men a step behind. Felix slashed into another on the far side of the platform, Ashe trying to pick off the archers who targeted his partner before they could take the shot. Claude kept his eyes trained on the metal golem in front of him. He loosed an arrow of his own, sailing through a gap in its armor and pegging one of Cornelia’s men hiding behind it in the throat.

“I hope that spell works quick!” he hollered at Lysithea who’d taken shelter behind a wall. Her hands worked furiously in the air, tracing arcane patterns he couldn’t hope to comprehend, even if he could afford to look away from the blade swinging for his neck like a guillotine built for a dragon.

“I need a minute,” she answered, her voice tight with concentration. “We didn’t test it at this range. They aren’t close enough.”

Claude groaned, firing off another arrow which lodged, fletching-deep, in a shield. Better than bouncing off, but not by much. In the chaos around him, it looked like his peers weren’t faring much better.

“I can’t safely get it any closer,” he informed her. “It’s like fighting a living tower! I think Dedue’s made a dent in one, but they aren’t stopping.”

“Well, I need them closer if this is going to work!”

He gritted his teeth. They needed that information. “Fine. I’ll see if I can get him to bring his over here.”

Claude was so focused on the immediate threat, trying to dart past the thoroughly distracted armor with an arrow sticking out of it, that he almost didn’t notice a column between himself and Dedue’s force light up with a menacing, pulsing aura. Magic build-up crackled under Claude’s skin. One step too far and lightning arced across the sky, racing towards him. It struck the ground where Claude had flipped out of the way, leaving a threatening scorch mark behind.

“Bad plan! Bad plan!” Claude squeaked. A giant fist eclipsed the sun as it careened towards him, forcing him to dash back a second time, right back to where he started.

Up on the platform, maniacal laughter threaded through the cacophony of metal, magic, and soldiers fighting for their lives. It ended in a choked hiss.

“That’s enough, Cornelia!” Dimitri boomed, sounding every inch a scorned king. “Fhirdiad is ours.”

The pandemonium around them did not falter despite the spear at her throat.

“Why, hello, Your Highness. It’s been a long time.” 

“Surrender before I take your life for usurping my throne and harming my people!”

“Oh I could...but I have a story you’ll want to hear before you kill me,” she lilted, unbothered by his bloodthirsty scowl. She grinned, her fingers wrapping around the spear’s handle. “It’s about Patricia and a little incident ten years ago. I’m sure you remember it.”

He gasped, “You can’t mean…Duscur?”

“But of course. Patricia wanted to see her real family again  _ so _ badly, she was willing to do anything. How could I refuse her plea for help? All she needed was the little matter of the king out of her way…”

Dimitri howled with rage, ripping his weapon from her grasp. “You monster! I’ll kill you…!”

“Ah ah ah!” she tutted, holding up a single finger. “You’ll never know what really happened if you do that. Poor little prince...unloved by the only mother you ever knew...”

Overhearing Cornelia’s taunts, an unconscious snarl spread across Claude’s face. He dreamed of driving an arrow into the back of that disgusting woman’s skull. 

Unfortunately, there was no time for distractions. Dimitri could handle her himself. Claude still had a mechanized atrocity to manage for the only woman on their side who could crack the code of these things. A woman who had given up on staying hidden and was steadily making her way towards him.

“Lysithea! What are you doing?” he yelped.

She had the audacity to sound annoyed with him. “You aren’t bringing them close enough, so I’m taking matters into my own hands!”

“Well, make it quick!” 

Claude desperately fired another pair of arrows, hoping it would be enough to keep that thing’s attention away from both her and Dimitri. Several shafts already stuck out from the beast at odd angles, sparking with blue light as though they had disrupted the flow of magic. Unfortunately, being the world’s largest and ugliest pincushion was hardly slowing it down. Even if he emptied his entire quiver, this abomination would probably treat him as no more than an annoying mosquito buzzing around.

“I’ve almost...a little more...got it! It’s a match!” Lysithea shouted in triumph.

“Good!” Claude congratulated, bouncing off an arm that had smashed into the stone walkway. “Now kindly get out of here. It isn’t safe.”

“You don’t need to treat me like a child, Claude. I am more than capable of protecting myself like everyone else in this army,” she snapped, the glow of her tracking spell fading. “My magic is…”

The rest of her sentence was lost in a grunt as Claude tackled her to the ground. The sickening thud of an arrowhead piercing armor assaulted her ears.

Cornelia’s archers. She’d forgotten about them.

“Claude!” she screeched. She clambered out from under him, trying desperately to drag him away from the battle before they lined up another shot.

Claude fought against her in an attempt to stand under his own power. He pushed out a gurgling laugh, an ugly grimace twisting his features. “Remind me to leave the hero thing to someone else next time. This really stings.”

Dimitri’s desperate voice tore across the battle, “Claude! Are you okay?”

“I’m hurt...but I’m with you,” he breathed, struggling to fill his lungs with enough air to be heard. “Don’t worry about me. Get your answers.” 

He stumbled backward when Lysithea tugged on his arm, barely avoiding another strike from the metal creature.

“Oh, is your friend over there going to die?” Cornelia asked in mock sympathy. “Too bad you can’t save him. The truth of Duscur disappears with me.”

“Start talking!” Dimitri commanded, his weapon pressed to her chest.

“Why would I do that? It’s so much more fun to watch you suffer.”

“Dimitri, please! We need to get him to a healer!” Lysithea hollered. 

Her magic crunched metal, twisting the thing’s blade away from them. Trembling, desperate fingers, unable to make that dark power mend instead of destroy, rested on Claude’s back to keep the arrow shaft still.

Cornelia smirked. “Think carefully, Your Highness. Isn’t finally knowing who’s responsible for the death of all those people in Duscur worth it? You’ve already killed so many…What’s one more life for the sake of your vengeance?”

The spear pierced her heart before she had the chance to exhale.

All around them, mechanized golems powered down, some pulverizing stone as several tons of metal crashed to the floor. The turrets keeping the warriors apart from one another lost their glow. A handful of Imperial soldiers, riddled with arrows, laid waiting for Cornelia’s corpse as Dimitri kicked her free from his weapon.

Just like that, they had won.

Claude smiled, though as the need to fight left him, so too did his ability to keep his eyes open. His body dripped with sweat, overheating beneath his Faerghus furs despite the cold. The voices of his friends faded and muddled together like distant mermaids calling for him beneath the sea. Between the heartbeats he was all too aware of, the world throbbed in and out of existence.

_ Shock _ , some still-functioning part of his mind guessed.

His last memory was of being lifted and surrounded by warmth. It was comforting. Like his mother cradling him to her chest in Almyra when no one else would see.

He let himself drift.


	16. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude tries to recover from his wound. Things are still tumultuous in Fhirdiad.

The only thing worse than pain bidding you good morning before your eyes opened, was opening those eyes to the bleak sterility of an infirmary bedroom. Claude groaned, cringing when the vibration of his vocal cords sent a dagger-sharp twinge shooting through his back.

“Hey, look who’s awake! You gave us all quite a scare back there. I shudder to think how much responsibility I would’ve been stuck with if you died,” a chipper voice greeted him to the waking world. 

“Hilda?” Bracing his left arm under him, Claude tried to push himself up enough that he could have a less-humiliating conversation than one with the ceiling. He caught a splash of pink before his shoulder gave out and he crashed back to the bed with an undignified yelp.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she scolded. Delicate hands, soft yet surprisingly strong, helped him find a resting position where the horrific screaming of his back calmed to a persistent, dull ache. “No getting up yet. Marianne’s orders. I’m kind of jealous, actually. You get to laze around here all day for at least another week without anyone bugging you for anything.”

Half a laugh escaped before that, too, was stopped short by a wince. “I don’t recommend following in my footsteps. This hurts like hell.”

“Yeah, you don’t look so good. I think I’ll steer clear of jumping in front of any arrows.”

Ah, right. That was why it felt like a wyvern took a bite out of him. His brain felt like a swamp under the waves of pain, dank and sluggish, but a few memories floated up that he could wrest from the muck. 

Fhirdiad. The euphoric high of adrenaline while fighting for his life. The certainty he would die as an arrow tore into his flesh. Cornelia promising Dimitri the answers he’d hunted for the past decade, the chance to finally attain vengeance for all those who died in Duscur, in exchange for the measly price of another man’s life.

And then...Dimitri chose him.

Bile threatened the back of Claude’s throat, and he wished he could say it was from the agony his body was in. He wanted to be proud. He  _ was  _ proud of Dimitri. But he was also severely ashamed because if it had been him who had to choose between a single person or the fruition of everything he had dreamed of, Claude doubted he would have made the selfless choice.

“Hello? You still with me, Claude? You aren’t gonna make me fetch Marianne, are you?” Hilda’s worried voice chimed nearby.

Claude started, coughing when cold, dry air flooded his lungs. Once the convulsions slowed, he forced a smile that did nothing to hide the agony etched around his eyes. “Yeah, I’m here. A bit tired is all.”

“Hm...maybe you should get some more rest before you pass out on me. As much as everyone likes a good present, I don’t think you’re well enough to open yours.”

He blinked, uncomprehending, at the ceiling. “You got me something?”

“Don’t be silly, of course I did!” she giggled. “But I’m not the only one who got you something. I guess you can’t see any of it as long as you’re stuck on your back, can you?”

“See what?”

“Hm...Oh! I have an idea!” More shuffling noises came from where Hilda was sitting, followed by the sound of one of her fancy leather bags opening. A hand mirror, lined in gold and ebony with a pink sapphire butterfly inlaid at the neck, was shoved into his field of vision. “What do you think?”

The mirror’s tiny surface reflected a myriad of gifts piled on a nearby table. There must have been two dozen books in the stack, at least three of which Claude recognized as stories Ashe had told him about on their journey to Duscur, a bouquet of sunflowers, a warm-looking Faerghus cloak draped in Alliance golds rather than Kingdom blues, some get-well-soon cards, an assortment of earrings (no doubt from Hilda), and a sash pin molded into the symbol Dedue always wore. Most conspicuous, however, was a heap of armor and fine silk that shimmered like the sun, its bright gold enhanced by how it intertwined with blacks and a pop of red.

Nausea gripped Claude. He’d spent seven years away, but even if it had been twenty, he would never forget the trappings of Almyra’s greatest warriors - the Barbarossa. How he’d admired them in his youth, weaving across the skies like swallows, their arrows able to fell buck or battalion without fail. And how crushed he’d been when one of them had patted him on the back as a boy, saying he shouldn’t push himself so hard to join their ranks. Someone with his ‘natural disadvantages’ couldn’t be expected to keep up.

Of course, that had the opposite effect on a young boy determined to prove he was as Almyran as the rest of them. He lived with a bow glued to his hands from that day forward, sneaking into the wyvern aerie to steal a precious hatchling he could raise as his own. The lashes he’d received when he was caught weren’t half as painful as the laughter at his expense.

Even if a small part of his heart had kept hope alive that he could still prove them wrong and one day wear that uniform, Claude had never anticipated he would see it again until Fodlan’s civil war had ended.

“Who sent the black and gold armor?” he asked.

“That was from my brother. When I wrote to him about Fhirdiad, he replied by sending that for you. He said someone left it in his room with your name on it and he was delivering it on their behalf, but I think he was just scared I’d yell at him for gifting you something so weird.” Hilda gave a long-suffering sigh, “Someone who’s recovering needs stuff to help them relax. I swear all he thinks about is fighting.”

So Holst was delivering the gift on behalf of someone else? Claude could only think of one person that might be - his sole contact in Almyra since taking over House Riegan. To think his old training instructor had not only petitioned for his admittance into the Barbarossa after hearing about his exploits in the war but also snuck through Fodlan’s Locket to have an enemy deliver the uniform.

That would be a difficult debt to repay when the war was over.

“It’s the thought that counts,” Claude replied. A yawn snuck up on him. “Though tea and sleep admittedly do sound more appealing than fighting right now. Do you think the Alliance can carry on without me for a few more hours?” 

Hilda’s laugh eased his creeping anxiety about everything falling apart without him to guide it. “No need to worry about that. Lorenz and I have it under control. It turns out he’s a pretty decent leader when he isn’t answering to his dad.”

“And the Kingdom heads aren’t giving you too much trouble?”

“Rodrigue and Gilbert? Oh no, not at all. They’re a bunch of sweethearts.” He could hear her wink. “They’d do anything to help a young lady who’s in over her head with all this leadership stuff.”

Despite the pain, Claude burst out laughing again. He almost felt sorry for those stuck up nobles and their chivalric ideals. “It’s good to hear you have everything well in hand.”

“We do, so you should get some more rest, okay?” A warm hand patted his arm. “I’ll go get Marianne to do something about the pain now that you’re awake. I’m sure you’ll be back on your feet in no time at all.”

‘No time at all’ turned out to be a gross underestimation. His recovery time stretched from hours to days as Claude learned the full extent of what it took to heal an arrow to the back. 

Although Marianne’s magic blessedly allowed him to breathe without wanting a stick to bite down on, the nature of a deep puncture like the one he’d gotten from that arrow meant trying to speed the healing too much with magic could permanently damage the muscle tissue. Claude was on strict bed rest until his wound began to mend on its own. That equated to a lot of sleep and waking up to either an empty room or people he had no interest in talking to. 

Truthfully, as touched as he was by the gifts, Claude didn’t want to talk to anyone at all when he was stuck in bed, helpless and half-conscious.

A few days in, he’d tried to grab a book to keep him sane when he awoke to an empty room and realized he’d already read everything by his bedside. Unfortunately, his movement alerted a nearby monk. Quickly apprehended, Claude was forced to lay prone while he listened to a stern lecture that if his back healed wrong because he couldn’t sit still, he might never draw a bow again. 

That threat kept Claude immobile for three more days. Mostly because it took three days to cook up a better scheme to sneak out.

At the one week mark, Claude made his move. He had pieced together a mental model of Fhirdiad’s medical ward through observation and not-so-innocent questions asked to his visitors. With good timing and a little luck, he calculated that he should have at least half an hour of freedom before he was caught.

Once he got his treatment for the morning, Claude counted the thirty seconds it would take for his healer to turn the corner, then hobbled out of bed. He stepped into a pair of boots he’d asked Hilda to smuggle in for him and threw a sash around his waist to house a dagger. It wasn’t the same as being dressed in real clothes, something his back made impossible, but it was better than feeling like an invalid.

Satisfied with his escape attire, Claude snuck down the hall, into a small alcove the healers never used, and took three steps through the back stairwell before someone blocked his path.

“Hey there, hero,” Sylvain greeted him cheerily. He was leaning on a cane at the bottom of the stairs, mismatched boots and patient’s garb suggesting he’d worked out a plan similar to Claude’s and was now coming back. “If you’re thinking about rescuing any more fair maidens, it’s best to wait until you can hold a weapon. Take it from a professional.”

“So I’m a hero, now?” Claude asked, hoping to keep Sylvain talking before he was dragged back to his room. 

He wasn’t sure if he liked ‘Hero’ more or less than ‘Leader Man’. This must have been his penance to the universe for doling out so many nicknames.

Sylvain grinned. “Of course! Felix told me the whole story about you diving to take an arrow for Lysithea. I’m almost jealous.”

Claude bit his tongue before he pointed out how disturbing it was to be jealous of a near-fatal injury.

“Felix told you?” he asked instead.

“You bet. He hated it. Said it was like one of those idiotic stories about knights and chivalry. Especially the part where His Highness rushed to your side once you collapsed and carried you through the thick of battle screaming for a healer.” Claude’s poker face must have suffered from his injury because half of Sylvain’s smile stretched into a smirk. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know?”

“I’m sorry to say I was unconscious at the time. Shock and all that,” Claude said. He was in shock now, but a very different kind. “I’ll be sure to thank him when I see him.” He paused as something that had been nagging at him about the blur of the past week clicked into place. “...I haven’t seen him. Why haven’t I seen him?”

The arrogance of that statement hit him as soon as it left his lips. Yes, Claude was the leader of Alliance, Dimitri’s tactician, ally, and perhaps even his friend, but the man had reclaimed his home and throne after five years of exile. Visiting someone who slept the majority of the day likely wasn’t high on his priority list.

Despite how ludicrous the question should have been, Sylvain’s lips fell into a troubled frown. “His Highness has been hard to find since Fhirdiad was liberated. Once he handed you off, he’s stayed out of sight other than official council meetings. Won’t meet his people, won’t talk about the crown...” An awkward laugh burst from the knight. “Truthfully, we’ve been hoping you’d be up soon so you could talk some sense into him.

“Doesn’t he have advisors for that sort of thing?” Not that Claude wasn’t eager to spend more time with Dimitri and rebuild his confidence as king, but this time, in the heart of Faerghus, surrounded by people who had awaited this moment since the prince was a boy without a father but too young to take the throne, Claude shouldn’t be the one to solve it all. The Kingdom needed to learn how to support their king if they had any hope of surviving after the war.

Also, his head was still screeching like a newborn wyvern, and Claude didn’t want to risk giving bad advice.

“He’s not interested in listening to any of us who’ve tried,” Sylvain explained with a shrug. “Rodrigue or Gilbert might be able to convince him he’s got to eventually, but we both know that’s not ideal.”

Claude nodded, shifting his weight to relieve the pressure building across his shoulders from standing for longer than he had in a week. There wasn’t anything fundamentally wrong with having at least one conservative advisor, someone had to make sure the traditions of the people were respected enough to effect lasting change, but progress demanded balance. 

Dimitri needed an advisor who was insightful, bold, and unrepentantly critical of the flaws in the current system. Someone who could be trusted to always tell the truth rather than parroting what he wanted to hear. Someone who might, with some coaching, be able to convince Dimitri to become a great king for his own sake, rather chasing his father’s ghostly footsteps.

“Where can I find Felix?” Claude asked.

If Sylvain thought the abrupt change of topic was rude, he didn’t show it in his smile. “At the training grounds, as always.”

“And those are…?”

“Ah, right, I forgot you probably haven’t been to Fhirdiad before,” Sylvain answered with a sheepish chuckle. “Down these stairs, past the courtyard, and through the second door on your left. The path should be clear for another thirty minutes or so.”

“Then I take it I can trust you aren’t going to rat me out?” Claude was already continuing down the stairs, ignoring how every step jolted up his spine and through the wound in his back.

Sylvain winked as he passed. “Now, why would I sell out someone who’s trying to help my king?”

Claude didn’t answer, his mind already distracted by thoughts that had become faster and more robust as he healed, but no easier to grasp. He felt like a drunken sailor trying to tack against a wind that kept changing. Only three things managed to stick with the same tenacity as the need to get out of the infirmary.

First, that he didn’t know why he trusted Sylvain to give him directions to Felix that would bypass anyone who might send him back to bed. That didn’t stop Claude from following his instructions, though. It wasn’t like he could find his way on his own while injured, drugged, and a stranger in a foreign city.

Second, he realized that he didn’t know what he was doing in chasing down Felix. It hadn’t been part of Claude’s original escape plan, and he held the same opinion of the man as he did the monastery’s cats. They were cute enough from a distance and surprisingly intelligent when motivated, but he wasn’t a fan of claws in his flesh without warning.

But the third and arguably the most important thought popped into his head the instant his boots hit Fhirdiad’s training grounds, a complex easily as vast as any in Almyra. Claude had absolutely no idea how to convince Felix to talk to Dimitri. From what he’d heard, the other lions and his father had been trying to do the same for almost a decade. They’d reasoned and plead and scolded, laying siege to Felix’s walls which he fortified further with every failed attempt, until it became easier to accept the insults than fight on as long as Felix fulfilled his duties.

Claude refused to accept them. He remembered, months ago when it was only he and Dimitri in an empty cell with an ocean of mistrust between them, the prince said that every man had something they could not accept. At the time, he’d thought it another excuse to hunt Edelgard and massacre her commanders. Now he understood.

Unfortunately, knowing he never wanted to hear the word ‘boar’ again didn’t give him any ideas on how to stop it.

“What are you doing? Don’t tell me you followed that idiot out here? You’re supposed to be the smart one,” Felix’s acerbic voice lashed out from nearby. Claude would have jumped from having his ruminations interrupted if that didn’t sound frightfully painful.

Turning his head to meet the other man, he threw a hand on his hip and smiled in greeting, though it probably looked more like a grimace. “Why, hello to you, too, Felix. I’m guessing by ‘that idiot’ you mean Sylvain, in which case, no, I’m afraid it’s just me out here this time. I wanted to chat with you.”

“Then you must have hit your head. Go back to bed.”

“Hey now, that isn’t very nice,” Claude tutted. He received a wordless glower. “Right, I forgot, you never claimed to be nice. Well, lucky for both of us, I’m not here because I need your pleasant company.”

For a second, Claude wondered if Felix was going to throw him over a shoulder and march them both right back to the infirmary. The swordsman eventually sighed, “What do you want, Claude?”

Claude grinned, triumphant. Hopefully, he’d be able to wing this. “Your help in getting Faerghus back on track.”

Ever the sharp one, Felix hissed back, “If you want me to talk to the boar, you’re wasting your time.”

There was that awful word again. Claude’s grin strained, suppressing the urge to snap. “Don’t give up on me without even listening to my proposal! Yes, I want you to talk to Dimitri, but that’s because someone needs to convince him to take the crown so Faerghus can start recovering. It just so happens, I think you’re the best man for the job.”

“You’re wrong. And he’s unfit to be our king,” Felix scoffed, throwing his training blade back in its sheath with more force than necessary.

“Maybe he is today, but that’s why he needs you,” Claude insisted. “You and I both know that Faerghus requiring blind loyalty and glorifying ‘honorable’ death hurts everyone. But trying to change that without a king will only end in more bloodshed. Faerghus needs someone to lead them. Dimitri can be that person if he has an advisor who can keep him focused on what’s important. I don’t think there’s anyone more suited to help him challenge the status quo than you.”

Felix’s brow furrowed, his gaze focused on a far-off memory, as he spat, “You’re more of a fool than I took you for if you think I can change his mind. The boar never listens to me.”

That moniker grated on Claude’s last nerve, like a dagger plunged into his already pounding head. An incensed accusation exploded out of him without warning.

“That’s because you spend all your energy trying to make him hate himself for not being the man you want, instead of helping him to become that man!” 

It had been the wrong thing to say. He could see the sudden catch of Felix’s jaw, the coil of a snake ready to defend itself in his fists. It didn’t matter how right he was, anger and self-righteousness would only ever be answered by the same.

Claude remembered a prince prostrating himself before a simple miner and sighed. 

“Do you know the difference between what I’ve been telling him and what you have?” he murmured. “I tell him that he’s not a monster. That’s it. Everything else - saying that wallowing won’t help and he needs to follow his own dreams rather than clinging to the plans of the dead or living who’ve pinned their hopes on him - those are all things you’ve said to him before.”

Felix didn’t offer a verbal or physical rebuttal, so Claude carried on.

“I’m not asking you for mindless devotion. Faerghus doesn’t need any more of that. I’m asking you to treat him with enough respect that he hears your ideas rather than your insults. He’s human like the rest of us, and I think you know that, or you wouldn’t be here. He needs you, Felix. So does Faerghus.” A coy smirk spread across Claude’s lips. “Unless you prefer this country to be led by men like your father, Gilbert, Margrave Gautier…”

Felix’s entire face contorted in disgust. “Enough. You’ve made your point.”

“So you’ll talk to him?”

“Do I have a choice? If I don’t, you’ll keep meddling and never heal,” the swordsman pointed out with an annoyed huff. “I’m not losing our tactician and strongest archer over something so stupid.”

“It’s sweet to know you care,” Claude chortled, winking back.

Felix gave him the same look Sylvain got when he asked the swordsman to play wingman. Utter disdain for his inanity. “Of course I care. I’m not blind to how much you mean to the others, even if you are.”

Before Claude could wonder what that meant, Felix’s gaze flicked over his shoulder and the archer froze, feeling the oppressive heat of someone glaring at his back. It seemed like his borrowed time was up. Claude turned his head to find Mercedes looming with the displeasure of a mother who’d caught their child stealing sweets from the kitchen.

“...I’m guessing that look means playtime is over,” Claude grumbled, sounding more petulant than he felt. All this standing had put more strain on his back than he’d expected, which also worsened his headache. He was ready to lay down again.

Mercedes’ frown deepened. “I am disappointed in you, Claude. Neglecting your health like this! If it weren’t for Sylvain telling us to check your room, you could have been lost for hours and undone days of progress.”

Sylvain had betrayed him? Head throbbing, Claude’s temper flared, despite not caring about returning to his room. Of course, the skirt-chaser couldn’t be trusted to keep his mouth shut when under the care of a woman. Claude should have known better than to trust his word.

Actually, now that he thought about it harder,  _ had _ Sylvain given him his word? Or had Claude walked away in his pain and drug-induced haze before he secured a promise?

He groaned aloud when the answer hit him. Maybe he did need to go back to bed if he was making such rookie mistakes.

“I know it’s hard to sit still for that long, but it’s important you let us do our work,” Mercedes said, misinterpreting his frustration. She took his arm, gently leading him back towards his room. “Sylvain offered to bring his chessboard over if you’re bored. I know it’s hard to play when you’re still hurting, but maybe that would help you pass the time?”

Claude smiled at the suggestion, shuffling at her side without a fight. “You know what? A chess game with Sylvain sounds  _ exactly _ like what I need right now.”

Anything the knight told him about Felix and Dimitri’s progress while he was still confined to a bed would only be a bonus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a doozy to write thanks to Claude's unusually grumpy tone throughout, so editing took up way more of my time than usual. Apologies that I've consequently fallen behind on responding to all your comments! As always, they are greatly appreciated, and I'll get to them as soon as I'm able.
> 
> Also a bonus game for anyone who wants some extra fun: write in your guesses for who gave which gifts to Claude. ;)


	17. Return of the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri finally stands before his people. Claude still wants a chance to talk.

Chess became the only constant in Claude’s life other than pain and restlessness while he laid in the infirmary. After their first game and a loss so conclusive that Claude suspected Sylvain had thrown the match as an apology, his fellow chess player donated a board to alleviate Claude’s boredom. From that moment on, every time he was asked ‘how are you feeling today?’ Claude responded with a wink and the same answer: “I’d feel better if I had someone to play with.”

Sympathy was an impressive motivator. Some, like Lorenz, would have played him regardless, but others like Hilda and Ignatz only accepted his challenge because Claude pouted like a starving puppy pleading for scraps when he asked for a game. He even convinced Raphael to play him once, though that ended in Claude’s forfeit halfway through. It wasn’t much fun playing against someone who was more interested in sampling the infirmary’s food than learning how the pieces moved.

Unsurprisingly, his favorite and most regular partner became the man who’d gifted him the chess set. Even though Sylvain had been released from observation the day after their meeting in the stairwell, he made a point of coming past Claude's room whenever Felix got fed up with him or Ingrid was out for his head due to a ‘misunderstanding’. Their sessions became both a chance to learn about the goings-on in Fhirdiad and for Claude to repair his ego as a tactician.

Most of the gossip was less juicy than Claude had hoped for. The Kingdom had their hands full with restoring order to their capital, the Alliance refused to entertain further war talks without House Riegan, and Felix was a closed book about his relationship with Dimitri. Whatever part he suspected Sylvain had played in the lecture Claude had given him, it was enough for Felix to knock Sylvain on his ass every time he brought it up, despite Sylvain’s whining that it could re-injure his legs.

“If you aren’t ready to take a hit, you shouldn’t be sparring,” the knight snarked in his best Felix imitation as he recounted his tale to Claude. They both laughed so hard that Sylvain had to hold Claude down to keep him from throwing out his back.

It didn’t matter that Felix refused to say anything. Within days, word came that Dimitri would be addressing his people and holding a grand feast at the end of the week to celebrate his return. Whether or not that was Felix’s doing, it was good news. They needed some levity before Faerghus got back to routing the Empire from its other territories. 

Equally good news, Claude’s prognosis would allow him to attend the celebration, though dancing remained out of the question. Claude didn’t care as long as he had a chance to speak with Dimitri. The prince still hadn’t visited, and two weeks was too long to let a life-debt go unanswered.

Claude had thought the Kingdom’s party in Garreg Mach to celebrate Dimitri’s return had been boisterous. It was nothing compared to the festivities in Fhirdiad.

Even before Dimitri appeared, the greys and blacks of the yet half-destroyed castle grounds were engulfed by the feet of thousands of citizens. Although most were natives from Fhirdiad with skin tones ranging between ‘freshly fallen snow’ and ‘the reason Faerghus invented ghost stories’, a few refugees from Duscur huddled in the crowd, too. They moved together like a single drop of oil in a jug of water, among the Faerghus people but never mixing. 

It wasn’t ideal from a unification perspective, but Claude would take cautious over openly-hostile for now.

He didn’t have long to dwell on it anyhow. When the curtains hiding a resplendent Dimitri from his people finally parted, cries of ear-piercing joy erupted like a geyser, so warm and overpowering Claude thought he might drown in the sound. Men and women, children and soldiers all heralded their king’s return in a single voice that shook the earth. They howled loud enough for their cheers to reach the stars above, shining like sentinels of House Blaiddyd in a cloudless sky. Swept away by their zeal, Claude hollered along with the crowd.

What a remarkable way to be welcomed home after five years of suffering. Claude wished he could know what it was like to stand before a people who loved him like this.

It was distressing if Dimitri’s expression was to be believed. From his vaunted seat close to the royal balcony, Claude did not miss the way Dimitri’s eye shimmered with tears he could not let fall now that his people’s hopes rested on his shoulders. The king’s lip trembled, his smile strained, and the anguish of self-doubt raced through every taut line of his body. 

A few months ago, Claude would have raced to his side, drawing him back from the balcony with clever words and a comforting hand on his elbow. They would have talked as long as it took for Dimitri’s eye to shine clear again. Now, it was Rodrigue who bid him turn away so his people could begin their feast. It was Ingrid and Sylvain who offered their smiles to chase away his doubt. It was Felix that Dimitri murmured something to as he disappeared into the keep with Dedue shadowing a step behind. They were the ones taking care of their king now.

Claude hadn’t realized when he started this plan to make Dimitri ruler of Fodlan that he would have to trust so many people. It felt like swallowing sand made of glass shards.

Thankfully, there was nothing like a party to forget the unpleasantness of life. Claude might not have been able to dance to the drums thundering over the crowd’s chatter, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy watching Fhirdiad’s jubilation or eat his fill of something other than rations from the healing ward. Claude made small talk with the Alliance members who hovered while biting off chunks from whatever roasted bird they placed in front of him. Its crispy skin was smothered in succulent spices that burned the back of his throat, warding off Faerghus’ cold. 

When he was stuffed so full he feared another bite might reopen the mostly-mended puncture on his back, Claude sent his companions off to enjoy the celebration with a smile. He told them that they’d better make the most of it on his behalf. Their happiness was all he needed to make his night complete.

That was mostly true. Unfortunately, the other thing he needed was currently being swarmed like a drop of honey on an anthill. 

Claude watched Dimitri get pulled in every direction by those who looked to him as their savior. He shook hands no matter how poor or filthy, thanking his people for their belief in him. He kneeled and patted the heads of newly-made orphans with whispers of reassurance. He let fingers claw at his cloak and armor, like sinners begging for heaven, without swatting a single one away. Eventually, his eye caught Claude’s across the ocean of bodies that divided them, but he was swept away by the current before he could say a word. 

There was always a price for victory. Resentment, territory, lives. Claude had calculated it all a thousand times over since the war began. This cost, though, this arrow through the heart he’d ferreted away under lock and key like a precious keepsake from his youth, he wasn’t ready for.

Is this what losing family felt like?

Suddenly unable to stand the sound of exuberant voices pounding against his eardrums, Claude excused himself from the festival, forgetting to smile as he left. He wandered around Fhirdiad’s castle, seeking out the long walks of the castle’s parapets where the open sky called to him. Overwhelmed by a feeling he didn’t want to name, Claude stopped to stare at the stars. The Almyran constellation names he’d whispered for so many sleepless nights since coming to Fodlan were blown away by Faerghus’ cold wind, replaced by the foreign ones Dimitri had muttered, learned by the prince in the very place where he was standing.

“Claude…There you are.”

A bitter laugh stuck in the archer’s throat. After nothing for two weeks, leaving him to recover from his injury without a single word, this man chose the one moment Claude wished to be alone to show his face.

As he turned to face Dimitri, Claude’s smile was bright but as bitterly cold as Faerghus itself. “Just thought I’d enjoy for an evening stroll as long as I’m allowed to walk again. What are you doing out here? You should be among your people celebrating your victory, Your Majesty.”

Pain flashed in that brilliant blue eye at the title, instantly internalized and smoothed over as only someone raised to be a martyr could. “I’m afraid I cannot agree. Where I should be is right here, with you. In truth, it is where I should have been since Fhirdiad was liberated.”

Claude wanted to tell him that he was fine on his own. It wasn’t as though he’d never been near-mortally wounded before, and this time he’d even had company.

“...so why weren’t you?” he asked instead.

“I was ashamed,” Dimitri admitted. He ventured closer in slow steps until they stood side by side, gazing up at the stars. “I haven’t been home in five years. Hearing Cornelia’s words, seeing the courtyard where I was to be executed, being led to my father’s throne...my throne, now...It made all those voices you worked so hard to quell come rushing back. Much of the past two weeks I’ve struggled to tell reality from those long dead.”

Of course. Claude should have seen it coming. This place was overflowing with the worst and best of Dimitri’s memories. “I would have helped you.”

“I know. And that is why I didn’t come to you.” Dimitri closed his eye. “I told myself you needed to heal without my burdens. That when you were well, you’d come find me and we could talk again. All I had to do was manage on my own for a little while.” He laughed until his voice shattered, and that blue eye, wet with emotion, sought out Claude’s gaze. “I’m so sorry for my foolishness. In the end, you ended up saving me anyway.”

Claude couldn’t look away, so he settled for a weak smile. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I didn’t do anything. I’ve been stuck in a bed for most of two weeks.”

“You sent Felix to me. Don’t bother denying it, Sylvain told me the full story,” Dimitri said when Claude opened his mouth to protest. “Felix reminded me of my duty to the people I had neglected. He also reminded me of my duty to my friends I had neglected...to you, specifically.”

“I don’t know what he told you, but you don’t need to worry too much about your people. I’m pretty sure I’m permanently deaf after how loud they were cheering for their new king.” Claude winked, proud he was able to keep the ache from his voice, though his smile tasted sour.

His pride didn’t last when Dimitri’s brow furrowed in that contemplative way that he always seemed to wear right before he unearthed another of the Alliance leader’s secrets. 

“Claude, you need to understand something,” he said seriously, and there was now a strong, gauntleted hand resting on Claude’s shoulder. “All those people out there, they only love me for what I represent. I will never be worthy of the pedestal they put me on. I am beyond blessed that they still accept me as their king after turning my back on them for so long, but there is  _ nothing _ to be envied about what they feel for me. My fate as their champion was sealed from the second I was born.” 

His fingers tightened, so unused to touching another human being that Claude feared his shoulder might snap. 

“But you...those who love you do so because you’ve earned it. You weren’t handed lifelong friends at the age of two who would die for you, having done nothing to prove yourself to them. Every step of the way since coming to Fodlan, you have fought for your respect. You’ve proven yourself by being cunning, charismatic, and kind rather than relying on the clout of your parents. Maybe you haven’t realized it, but you’re surrounded by people who want nothing more than to be your friend, if you’d only let them in.”

Dimitri’s hand released him, but it did nothing to steady Claude’s breathing. He laughed to soften nerves that frayed like silk caught in a lion’s claws, thinking on the new earring in his ear, the warm cloak from the Kingdom surrounding him, the chessboard that Sylvain was never getting back, and the mountain of books in the infirmary. He remembered the way Hilda checked on him every day, how Marianne and Mercedes offered to get him something extra from the library if it would help with the boredom, how Ashe and Sylvain made sure he had enough stimulating conversation to forget the war and the pain in his back for an hour whenever they could.

There were so many of them, right there, reaching out for him. He wasn’t an outsider with no ties to this land anymore. Not because of them, anyhow.

“I’d say you’ve done plenty worthy of praise, Your Kingliness. Left me speechless, for one. A lot of people out there would pay good money for that,” Claude choked out between fragile laughs.

“That was not my intent…”

“Thank you, Dimitri.”

Claude almost burst into another fit of hysterical giggles when the regal king’s eye went so wide his iris looked like a perfect ring of ice, surrounded by white on all sides. But then his eyebrows lifted and his jaw trembled and all at once, Claude understood with stabbing guilt how serious Dimitri’s wish had been to have someone call him by his name. 

“You shouldn’t thank me. I haven’t even finished my apology yet,” Dimitri mumbled, a crimson clinging to his cheeks that wasn’t from the chill.

“There’s more?” Claude wasn’t certain how many more of Dimitri’s heartfelt speeches he could take.

“I never gave you anything while you were under Marianne’s care. I’m afraid I’m hopeless at choosing gifts, so it took me longer than I expected to find something you might appreciate...”

“You know, I wouldn’t mind a new dagger,” Claude hummed. 

Dimitri snorted, unamused, “I take it you’ve been talking to Sylvain. No, it is not a dagger. It’s considerably larger than that.”

“So a sword?”

“Please come with me before I regret planning this,” Dimitri grumbled, but when Claude smiled at him, he smiled back.

They walked through Fhirdiad’s stone arches and winding corridors far from the heart of the party like a pair of lovers sneaking away for an illicit affair. Claude thought to make a cheeky comment to that effect, wondering if Dimitri would blush like a noa fruit or ignore it in the same way he did Sylvain’s off-color remarks, but it was bad form to harass someone about to give you a gift. Even if that gift required marching across the entire castle grounds to the point his back started throbbing in time with his footsteps. They made to the north end of Fhirdiad before stopping, slowing in front of an abandoned building with cracked walls and no souls in sight.

This getaway was starting to feel like less of a tryst and more of a kidnapping.

“This is it,” Dimitri announced merrily as they approached a door that swung free on one of its hinges.

Claude was good at faking smiles, especially when someone tried hard to do something thoughtful, but this was too much, even for him. “You...got me a stable in Fhirdiad? It’s a bit of a fixer-upper…”

“Not the stables. What’s inside.” He pushed the door open and gestured for Claude to step into the derelict structure first. Claude gritted his teeth as he led the way with a hand at his sash, his dagger a cold comfort under his palm. “I apologize that this place is in disrepair, but we didn’t have an aerie to house her. Fhirdiad doesn’t get ones like her often.”

Emotionless, yellow eyes opened to greet the unexpected guests, reflecting the stable’s dim light. A wyvern. But not just any wyvern - as Claude ventured closer with hand outstretched, she uncoiled, stepping into a beam of moonlight that cascaded through the broken ceiling to illuminate the scratched floors.

Her scales gleamed as white as Faerghus’ mountain peaks.

“What is she…?” Claude breathed, his hands tracing the long sweep of her head.

“The only breed of wyvern native to Faerghus, so rare that a handful of her scales could buy an entire flock of sheep. It’s believed her kind are transplants from Sreng’s deserts. In search of larger prey, they adapted to live in the snowy cliffs that border our countries.” Claude could hear Dimitri’s delight over how the wyvern sniffed at him but was too distracted by the big snout exploring his hair to care. “She was injured as a fledgling and raised by a family in Gautier territory to scare off Sreng’s invaders from their farms. They gave her to me when we retook Fhirdiad. 

“Now, I give her to someone who I know will care for her better than I ever could. I realize that, despite being combat trained, she may not be ideal for battle due to her coloration, but...”

“She’s perfect,” Claude interjected, scratching the soft juncture of the wyvern’s jaw as her tongue lolled out. 

Barbarossa didn’t fear being conspicuous during battle, in fact, they welcomed it as a mark of pride. A bold beast who’d crossed between worlds and fought to protect her family, she was a reminder of Fodlan he’d proudly keep by his side in the years to come.

An awed breath beside behind him made Claude turn away from admiring her gorgeous scales.

“So that’s what your real smile looks like,” Dimitri murmured, looking stricken as if the Goddess herself had appeared before him. “It’s enchanting.”

Belatedly, Claude realized his lips had turned up, but not into one of the grins he plastered on to raise the army’s spirits or hide his true intentions. He twisted away, face burning. “I’ll never understand how you can say stuff like that with a straight face.”

“I was only…” Dimitri’s clarification ended in a strangled huff. “I’d like to see it more often. That’s all. I feel as if I’ve done something right when I see a friend smile.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Claude admitted. Seeing people smile made all of this, the politicking, the fighting, the suffering, a little easier to bear.

Feeling braver, Claude threw another grin in Dimitri’s direction, a real one that glowed from within. “I’d like to see you smile more, too, you know. Just because you’re king now doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed a little personal happiness.”

The light in Dimitri’s eye abruptly dimmed. Claude cursed himself for thoughtlessly bringing up the throne. “About that...there is one more apology I need to make.”

“Really, Dimitri, you don’t need to…”

“I have no intention of unifying Fodlan or ruling over it.”

The joy behind Claude’s smile faltered, leaving it hollow. “Are we going to have this conversation again now? You know I’ll get my way in the end.”

“Not this time, no matter how grateful I am for all you’ve done on my behalf. I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Dimitri said so resolutely that Claude believed him. “But, if you’re willing to listen, I have started working on another proposal that I hope will be enough to convince you to continue working with me.”

Claude’s arms crossed and he gestured for Dimitri to expound upon his agenda. He ignored the poke of a wyvern’s nose at the back of his head.

“I believe it would be better for Faerghus, the Alliance, and the Empire to remain separate entities. In Faerghus alone, the rebuilding of Duscur, restabilization of the country, and the dismantling of a crest-based hierarchy will take all of my time and effort. I have no doubt the Alliance faces similar struggles that I know nothing about, not to mention the disrepair and crumbling morale that the Empire will be confronted with if we manage to win this war. For one person to lead all of those regions at once after years of strained relations would only lead to more neglect of the people and their specific needs.”

“Then what do you propose?” Claude inquired.

“The creation of a summit to discuss world affairs while the regions rebuild after the war,” Dimitri said. He didn’t give Claude a chance to object before continuing with his explanation, “I realize it will not give the direct control of your plan and that it runs the risk of infighting as seen within the Alliance, but I believe it is a step in the right direction. If we could unite the world’s leaders on neutral ground…”

“...it would give us the chance to begin discussing relief efforts and opening borders without individual regions losing focus on the needs of their people, right?” Claude finished, scratching at his recently trimmed beard. “I see the merit in your idea, but I’m not certain where we would hold a summit like that.”

“Why not Garreg Mach?” Dimitri suggested. “Until recently, it housed the Empire, the Alliance, and the Kingdom under one roof.”

Claude scoffed, batting away the giant head poking at his shoulder for more attention. “It’s also run by the church and sits in the center of Fodlan. That may not seem so important to you, but as someone from Almyra, well...take my word for it that the Goddess isn’t very welcoming.”

“Almyra…” Dimitri’s eye narrowed as he tried to place the name. “That’s the country which fights constant skirmishes along the Alliance's eastern border, correct?”

“It is. It’s also where I’m returning after the war,” Claude confessed, realizing too late that he’d never spoken of his origins to Dimitri before. Not that it mattered, even with a name attached to his homeland, the king’s eye brimmed with honest curiosity rather than fear. “I’m not saying no to your proposal, but you’ll need a better understanding of other countries, their traditions, and their religions to convince me you’d be able to provide an impartial meeting grounds. Your plan also doesn’t address the already tenuous state of a fractured Foldan’s diplomatic relatio--ow...!”

Claude’s new wyvern, frustrated with being ignored for so long, suddenly nosed him square in the back. Claude pitched forward, hissing in agony. Dimitri caught him by the biceps.

“As much as I would like to discuss this further, perhaps it is best to focus on your healing for now,” the king conceded. He was too tall to be much use as a crutch, but he made a good wall for Claude to lean against until he caught his breath. 

“Agreed. We can debate another day,” Claude panted. He shot the wyvern a glare, but she was distracted by scratching an itch under her left horn. “I hear a bed calling my name. And I’m pretty sure there are a few thousand people out there calling yours, too, Your Kingliness. I’m a little surprised Gilbert hasn’t rushed in here to yell at me yet for taking you away from them.”

Dimitri’s mouth twitched towards a smirk. “It’s not so surprising. I informed Dedue I was not to be disturbed while talking to you. He takes his duties quite seriously.”

A wheezing laugh erupted from Claude. “Look at you being clever. I’ll make a schemer out of you yet.”

“Not if I make an honest man out of you first,” Dimitri replied with a smile so innocent Claude didn’t have the heart to tease him about his word choice.

It wasn’t until he woke up the next morning that Claude realized he’d gotten so caught up in Dimitri’s apologies, he’d forgotten to thank his friend for saving his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! My update schedule is a bit messed up thanks to being wiped out by a fever this week and the chapters getting longer. Luckily, there are only 5 chapters left, unless my outline changes, so I hope it won't be too much longer.
> 
> Because I've heard some curiosity about it: yes, I do plan to write more in this verse once the main path is complete! I have a few things planned, but if there's anything you want to see - a missing scene or another point of view, for example - feel free to leave requests. 
> 
> For all those who participated in the little game during the last chapter, here were my original thoughts for the gifts:
> 
> Books - Ashe, Lysithea, and Ignatz. The stories were naturally from Ashe.  
Sunflowers - Lorenz. He also gave a card since the flowers plus card combo is what etiquette dictates for a get well soon gift.  
Cloak - An official gift from Faerghus for retaking Fhirdiad. Dimitri and Felix had the biggest part in this because they were the ones who mentioned Claude could use it.  
Cards - More or less everyone in their army who used to go to the academy other than Felix and Dimitri.  
Earrings - Hilda, as stated.  
Sash Pin - The remnants of Duscur that fought with Dedue during Fhirdiad. A similar gift was given to Felix, Ashe, and Dimitri in response to their diplomatic mission.  
Barbarossa Outfit - Nader via Holst in true crazy uncle fashion.
> 
> As always thank you for reading and your incredible comments!


	18. Shadow of the Empire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude works on his rehabilitation. Lysithea stops by with dire news about their enemies.

Holding a bow never lost its magic, whether it was one scrapped together from yew saplings and animal sinew in Almyra’s coniferous forests, or Failnaut’s massive form that fired arrows like bloodied lightning. Fhirdiad’s training grounds may have been foreign, built with large, empty fields for practicing the horse and lance maneuvers Faerghus was feared for, but the curves of a training bow felt as familiar as a first lover under Claude’s hands. He bent it beneath a knee, savoring the snap of the string into its notch.

Claude frowned at how easily it yielded when he gave the bow a test pull. They’d told him this was a special string for his therapy, but the draw weight must have been less than half what he normally pulled. An arrow fired from it would barely fly more than a bow length. He couldn’t shoot targets with that, especially not using the half-draw the healers had told him to use.

Surely they were being overly cautious. Claude pulled the bow again, reveling in the flex of too long unused muscles. He kept going this time, past the point where his arms did most of the work, all the way to his usual firing position. His shoulders squeezed and his chest expanded in a satisfying drag. 

The moment Claude’s fingers crossed the threshold of his lips, his back seized into a knot of excruciating pain. The bow clattered to the ground and Claude crumpled with it.

On second thought, maybe the healers knew what they were talking about.

“Claude, are you alright?” Light footsteps rushed to his side. A hand touched his back over the healed arrow wound, conjuring memories of terrified shouting and metal shrieks as it flared in phantom pain.

A shaky chuckle tumbled from Claude’s lips. “Yeah, I’m good. Overdid it a little. No need to worry about me, Lysithea.”

“It’s too late for that,” she huffed, helping him back to his feet. “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

Claude stayed hunched while standing, a hand on Lysithea’s shoulder for balance, waiting for the spasms to fade enough that he could roll his shoulders again. “Don’t know where you got that idea. I’ve been doing nothing but lay in bed for over two weeks. You, on the other hand, have been falling asleep in the library according to Hilda.” 

“That was only twice!”

“Which is twice too many,” Claude responded, stretching his neck. “I know what you’re working on is vital to the war effort, but you won’t do anyone any good if you’re exhausted. We’ve talked about this before.”

Lysithea’s lips pursed in a half-pout, but she didn’t disagree. He almost missed the days when she was young enough to puff up and throw a temper tantrum about things like that. It gave her the illusion of innocence, though if Claude had to guess, she’d lost hers at around the same time he lost his own.

Her voice was calm when she responded, “Alright. I’ll rest after you hear what I’ve discovered.”

“You found something?”

“I promised I would.”

She had made that promise not long after he first awoke. He’d been delirious with pain at the time, but Claude remembered her stopping by his room just once and telling him she wouldn’t let his sacrifice go unrewarded. Since then, Lysithea had locked herself in the castle library, determined to make sense of what her spell had picked from the battle at Fhirdiad and its remnants. It was as close to an apology as she could get away with in front of Claude.

“Since my back has decided to commit treason, I’d say now is as good a time as any to discuss, as long as we can go somewhere with chairs,” Claude groaned, trying to straighten up with a wince. “Is this the sort of thing His Kingliness needs to hear, too?”

Lysithea sighed. “You could at least try to show some respect while staying in his castle and taking advantage of his healers. Yes, this is something he will need to know as well. I’d rather not speak of it more until we’re in private.”

The cautious flit of her eyes around the mostly-empty training grounds was more than enough to convince Claude. “Then let’s not wait. Lead the way - I’m right behind you.”

The best place for their clandestine meeting turned about to be the very library Lysithea had haunted since arriving in Fhirdiad. Dedue took a post outside the door after Dimitri cleared the room, demanding to be left in peace while he discussed terms with the leader of the Alliance and his researcher. While Claude hobbled his way in and Lysithea gathered her notes, Dimitri arranged two chairs on the side of a table, facing each other.

“Put your feet up. It will help your back,” he said while taking his own seat at the head of the table.

Claude raised his eyebrows as he plopped down in one of the offered chairs. “Putting my feet on the furniture? I thought that was a capital offense in the Kingdom.”

“Then I suppose it’s fortunate you’re friends with the king. I believe I can muster a royal pardon on this one occasion.”

Claude laughed, throwing his legs up and ignoring the dirty look he got from Lysithea as she returned with an armful of reference materials. If she wanted his focus, she could deal with whatever etiquette breaches he needed for his wound to stop nagging. “So what have you found out, Lysithea? Do you know who built those monsters for Cornelia?”

She was pulling out a notebook from the bottom of the pile, flipping through its pages. “That’s the easy part. I was able to get a reading during our battle on the mechanical knights. They were undoubtedly created by the same people who launched those light javelins at Fort Merceus and killed Jeralt.”

“Edelgard,” Dimitri muttered.

“It’s worse than that,” she said. She flipped her book around to face the two men and pointed at a diagram filled with magical formulas they couldn’t hope to understand. “See this?” Claude and Dimitri met her question with nonplussed stares. She sighed and tapped it again. “This is the spell  Solon and Kronya used to take over their host bodies. Since Cornelia had so many of those mechanical weapons made by their magic, I had a hunch and decided to run some tests on her corpse. It had remnants of this same spell.”

Claude’s brow pinched. “You mean to say she was part of their organization?”

“Most likely. It would explain why she sided with the Empire so quickly and did everything in her power to ruin the Kingdom by targeting the royal family. It also means the real Cornelia probably died a while ago.”

Dimitri’s hands tented in front of his lips, fingers running restlessly against them. Tormented by thoughts of his slated execution and what that meant about her dying words regarding the truth of Duscur, if Claude had to guess. The Alliance leader rapped his knuckles on the table to draw his attention back to the present.

“Alright, so if that’s true, what does that tell us?” Claude said, letting his internal monologue run aloud. He ticked his points off on his fingers. “First off, whoever these people are, they’re working with the Empire and want to see the Kingdom destroyed. We probably just threw a huge wrench in their plans by retaking Fhirdiad and killing the Cornelia imposter. Secondly, that they have more dead-people plants than we thought. There’s a chance there could even be some in our army. We’ll have to do a sweep for more…”

“I think I know one,” Dimitri interrupted suddenly. He gazed through Lysithea’s notebook, ignoring their eyes on him.

Claude blinked. “Hm? Who?”

“Lord Arundel. Edelgard’s uncle.”

Not a theory Claude had anticipated, but with so many unknowns, any guess could be an important one. Claude hummed, picking at a scratch in the table’s wooden top. “I see. And what’s your justification?”

“Back at the academy, I was looking into him for being connected to the Tragedy of Duscur. His personality changed drastically and his donations to the church suddenly stopped around the same time as the incident. Unfortunately, I was never able to prove anything before war broke out,” Dimitri recalled. His shoulders sagged, and Claude was reminded of the exhausted boy he’d crossed paths with often during late-night library runs. “More importantly, Cornelia went through a similar transformation. She was once a kind woman who ended the plague which took my mother. If she was replaced by one of those people, it follows that he might have been, too.”

Lysithea nodded, picking up a quill to scratch down a half-formed theory. “Hm...Lord Volkhard von Arundel wields significant power. He would be a prime target to replace if their goal is to use their magic to propel the Empire to victory.”

“That’s the real question, isn’t it? What are they trying to do? Restore the Empire? Take over Fodlan?” Claude closed his eyes. “Having the ability to control world powers with a simple assassination, not to mention owning weapons that could literally wipe a fortress off the planet in a matter of seconds...It seems like they should have been able to raze both the Kingdom and the Alliance to the ground by now. Yet after five years, the war carries on.”

“Unless they don’t want to be the ones to get their hands dirty,” Dimitri mused. He rested his chin on his hand, keeping time on his cheek. “Solon, Kronya, and Cornelia’s imposter...they all seemed more interested in sowing chaos than killing us directly.”

Claude thought back to the academy, how expertly they’d played the church against itself, using its students to carry out their nightmarish experiments. How they goaded Teach into losing themselves after Jeralt’s death. He remembered Cornelia, too, holding the Tragedy of Duscur and Dimitri’s past crimes over his head. 

“They want us to destroy ourselves,” he concluded.

“That was my deduction as well,” Lysithea chimed in. She circled something in her notes. “When you look at all the timings and incidents we know about, it seems they’ve had a hand in everything from the Tragedy of Duscur to the subsequent razing of Duscur territory, Remire, my family’s suffering, and Edelgard’s war. It’s likely those light javelins were a limited commodity meant to frighten us; if they intended to wipe us out directly, they easily could have done so by now.”

Claude smiled. “That’s perfect.”

“I fail to see what part of this is something to be happy about.”

“It’s simple,” he replied, rolling to his hip so he could talk to Lysithea without craning his head. “If what you say is true, it means our enemies aren’t as powerful as they want us to believe. Let’s assume they’re really behind all of those things, including Duscur. That means we have the perfect scapegoat we need to unite the Kingdom against the Empire instead of each other. And  _ that _ will give us the forces we need to take Enbarr, root out the rest of these monsters using your little tracking spell, and end the war.”

“What about Edelgard?” 

Claude and Lysithea both glanced at Dimitri, startled by the somber way he said her name. It was a far cry from how he’d sounded the past months, reminiscent of a criminal who had stolen bread to survive and watched the breadmaker starve because of his selfish choice, rather than the bloodthirsty howl of a wounded animal wanting to sink its teeth into the neck of the poacher who’d shot it.

Claude wasn’t sure how to respond to that tone. “What about her?”

“Do you think she’s one of them?” His eye bored into Claude’s begging for an answer the leader of the Golden Deer wasn’t sure he wanted to give, even if he knew it.

“It doesn’t matter, does it? This is her war,” he hedged.

“It matters to me.” Dimitri’s eye closed. He breathed deeply. “El...Edelgard...is my step-sister.”

Lysithea gasped but Claude only grimaced, kicking himself for not seeing it sooner.

He had noticed something back at the academy, of course - the way Dimitri always sought her out on the battlefield or the grounds, no matter how many times she rebuffed him. How he had begged her not to treat them as enemies. That pathetic eagerness to win her affection that Claude had mistaken for a silly schoolboy crush.

Dimitri had been trying to regain his family. Of course, he was. It was always family with him.

How deep must Edelgard’s betrayal have cut for him to spend five years doing nothing but thirsting for her blood on his hands?

“I’m sorry, Dimitri,” Claude said with a gravity usually reserved for eulogies. “But whether she is one of them or not, this war will not end as long as she lives.”

Dimitri’s lips thinned into an uncompromising line. “We should at least try to reason with her.”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, that’s impossible,” Lysithea chimed in, cold and determined. “We’ve tried diplomacy several times over the past five years, but she always repeats the same line: she’s the only one who can fix Fodlan. She says the bloodshed is our fault because we won’t hand our lands over and let her do it.” 

Lysithea ground her teeth and Claude wondered if the people who had implanted her with that second crest had blamed her for resisting that, too.

“It’s as she says,” Claude confirmed with a sigh. “You know I’m all for dismantling the tyranny of crests, unifying Fodlan, and lessening the church’s power, but what’s the point of all that if you have to destroy the people to do it? Trying to talk it out with Edelgard won’t do anything but paint a target on our backs.”

“You painted a target on your back by taking me in when I was nothing but a monster feasting on Imperial soldiers,” Dimitri protested. His fists trembled against the edge of the table. “What makes me worthy of a second chance? Why can’t she be given the same?”

“Because  _ you  _ took responsibility for your atrocities.” The cold air of Fhirdiad couldn’t compare to the frigid edge of Claude’s voice. “Even if she isn’t one of them, she has watched every step of the way. She watched Kronya and Solon walk free within the monastery, knowing their true identities. She watched Remire happen. She watched Jeralt die. She watched her country twist humans into monsters using crests to fight her war. She watched as the people forcefully subjugated by Imperial rule suffered. She has watched all of this and still blames us for opposing her.

“You’re the one who always insists that leaders are accountable for the wrongdoings of the people they represent. I’ve seen you take personal responsibility for Duscur first hand. Do you mean to tell me the Emperor shouldn’t be held to the same standards?”

Dimitri opened his mouth, then swallowed, chewing on air and studying the table. Claude waited in silence. He never liked being this harsh, especially when he’d spent so many nights pondering the same thing Dimitri was right now. Was there something he could say to talk Edelgard out of her path? 

The sad truth was the time for talking had long since passed, and Claude needed Dimitri to come to terms with that. If Edelgard had any desire for this to end without more needless bloodshed, she would have to be the one to face the burdens of the war she had started and put a stop to it. Otherwise, she would die for the sake of the very country she thought she was saving.

Just as Lysithea had started to fidget in her seat with unease, Dimitri spoke again, his voice resigned but firm. “Very well. We will march on Enbarr and help you stop the beasts who have ravaged my country. I only ask one thing in return.”

“Which is?”

“If Edelgard asks for parley, hear her out.”

Claude knew it would never happen. He suspected Dimitri knew it, too. But sometimes, committing to compassion, even without the chance to show it, was what the heart needed to carry out the unpleasant necessities of war.

“You have my word,” Claude replied, holding his hand out. Under less dire circumstances, Dimitri might have laughed at the infamous schemer’s word meaning anything at all. 

The king shook Claude’s hand with the solemnity of a man agreeing to his own execution.

Lysithea cleared her throat, drawing the room’s attention back to her and her books. “There is one more thing we need to consider if we’re attacking Enbarr directly. I don’t know if you’ve heard, Claude, but Petra is in Enbarr.”

“Petra?” Dimitri mumbled. He withdrew his hand, resting it under his chin again as his eye scrunched with the effort to remember the significance of that name. “She was the exchange student housed by the Empire, correct? A princess of Brigid?”

Claude nodded, putting his own hand back in his lap. “Exactly right. Not the sort of person you want to accidentally take out while trying to gain control of the city. Who knows if Brigid would blame the Empire for putting their princess in danger or us for doing the actual killing.”

“Then we’ll have to capture her,” Dimitri concluded. His hand knocked on the table in a show of determination. “As long as we end the war without harming her, Brigid may be able to overlook Fodlan’s involvement.”

Lysithea shook her head. “I don’t think they’d be thrilled about a kidnapping, either.”

“True, but I’m with Dimitri on this one. As far as crimes go, kidnapping is way more forgivable than murder. I’d love for her to just sit this one out, so we can ignore her entirely, but Petra was never really the type to hang back and let others do the fighting for her,” Claude lamented. Quite the opposite, from what he’d heard. Her people took pride in the hunt, and a coward who surrendered at the first sign of trouble was no hunter.

“It’s still risky. Maybe there’s a way we can dismantle their magic weapons without attacking Enbarr directly…”

Lysithea’s theories were cut short by the library’s double doors unlocking. The heavy thunk startled her, magic reflexively gathering around her hands, and Claude wished he had more than a dagger at his waist when the doors swung open. Already in a fighting stance with the gleam in his eye of a guard dog baring its fangs at an intruder, Dimitri’s glower faded into a frown when faced with his most trusted retainer.

“Dedue? I thought I made it clear we were not to be disturbed,” he rumbled, more confused than angry.

The large man bowed, a hand over his heart. “My apologies, Your Majesty. I received an urgent message from the acting Archbishop. I thought you would wish to know immediately.”

“Go on.”

“The Knights of Seiros believe they have located Lady Rhea. She is being kept in Enbarr. They intend to take a strike force to rescue her at the end of the month and have requested immediate aid from the Kingdom and the Alliance.”

Claude laughed, slapping his thighs as he swung his feet to the ground and pushed up to standing. He was so amused that the sting of his wound hardly registered. “What incredible timing! Sorry, Lysithea, but it looks like our choice has been made for us. We can’t just ignore a summons from the Archbishop.” 

Personally, he didn’t care at all for the Church’s authority, but he wasn’t about to miss a chance to corner Rhea if she really was in Enbarr. Claude had been waiting on it since the Knights and his old teach started their search. The Empire might have been their main enemy, but he didn’t doubt for a second there was still something fishy about the Church and their Crests. He intended to have a nice long talk with her once they stopped Edelgard and the dastards using the faces of dead people to destroy Fodlan.

Lysithea snorted, not buying for a second that he was acting out of a sense of piety. “Your reasons aside, I agree that it would be foolish to pass up the opportunity to work with the Knights of Seiros against the Empire.” She sat down with an audible thud and started to rifle through her notes again. “I’ll begin research to increase the range of my tracking spell immediately. We’ll want to disable their magic as quickly as possible.”

“Indeed. We will need every advantage we can muster against this enemy,” Dimitri said. Turning back to Dedue, he nodded. “You may spread the word. We head to Enbarr, and the end of this war.” 

As his retainer left with another bow, his eye drifted to the south, towards the heart of the Empire and his estranged step-sister. Fodlan would have its justice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really dislike writing exposition-heavy chapters, rather than character-driven ones, but as we wrap up with Enbarr/TWSITD and the huge dumps of information that are canonically glossed over in Dimitri and Claude's paths, it's somewhat inevitable.
> 
> For anyone who missed it, while I was struggling to write all this talking, I started a series tag for Emerald Moon which will have other in-verse stories in it. The first fic is a Dimitri/Sylvain one (platonic but sexual) from the Academy era, which can be safely ignored in terms of this main story if that isn't your thing.
> 
> Thanks again for all your support!


	19. Enbarr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kingdom and the Alliance march on Enbarr. Claude goes in search of Petra.

There wasn’t enough time. Not enough for Claude to finish his training with Estera, the white wyvern he had named for how she dove through the air like a falling star. Not enough for Lysithea to perfect her spells, even with the help of Annette and the Royal School of Sorcery who had pledged their services since the liberation of their home in Fhirdiad. Not enough for Hilda to call for her brother from the Almyran border, or for Dimitri to rally the western Kingdom territories, or for anyone to gather more intelligence on Enbarr than what had been provided by Shamir.

There was never enough time in war, yet they marched onwards.

The path from Fhirdiad to Enbarr was a long one, littered with once-entrenched Imperial troops who scattered when banners of Faerghus and the Leicester Alliance approached followed by the largest army Fodlan had seen since Loog had traversed these same lands to win independence from the Empire. To many, this was the War of the Eagle and Lion repeating itself in modern times. A new King of Lions led the way with House Fraldarius and Claude playing the roles of Kyphon and Pan at his side. It was a heroic image that inspired confidence among the Kingdom soldiers but unrest from parts of the Alliance. They feared that it was a sign House Riegan intended to realign itself with House Blaiddyd after the war, forcing them to pay tribute to a king and culture they had not observed for generations.

Claude was beginning to suspect Dimitri had been right. Although relations between their peoples had improved significantly, it wasn’t enough for unification yet. That was a puzzle he’d have to solve later. As long as the Empire’s war raged on, there could be no peace.

For all the strength a massive army had, more troops meant more voices at the table and more difficult strategy sessions. Claude could hardly hear himself think over the squabbling of the Faerghus lords who had pledged themselves to their new king, not that they would heed him when he spoke anyway. Dimitri demanded they listen, of course, and directly asked for his counsel at every step, but to those Kingdom leaders he would always be an Alliance head first and a tactician second.

They didn’t realize that Claude had a lifetime of practice being an outsider forcing change. If they wouldn’t let him touch the pieces on their chessboard to ensure a win, then he’d do it when their back was turned.

The morning of the siege on Enbarr, after the Knights had left on their secret mission to infiltrate the palace in search of Rhea but before the sun peeked over the horizon, Claude sought out Ingrid in the stables. She stroked a brush with soft, tan bristles over her steed to calm both their nerves, finishing the last stages of its grooming. If she was that far along in her daily routine, it seemed Claude wasn’t the only one who had failed to get a full night’s sleep. 

“Good morning! Getting an early start, I see,” he chirped far more cheerfully than he felt at this miserable hour.

Confused by the intrusion, Ingrid paused mid-brush-stroke and looked over at him. “Oh, hello Claude. I’m usually up early to start my chores. Is something wrong? I wasn’t expecting to see you for several more hours.”

“I’m wounded. You think I wouldn’t get out of bed for something as important as our final battle?” Judging by her blank stare, he didn’t want the answer to that. “In any case, I’m here because I have a favor to ask of you. It’s regarding the fight ahead of us.”

Ingrid frowned at him, but in a concerned-knight way rather than her usual you’re-in-trouble-for-being-a-jerk way. “Isn’t that something you should be discussing with His Majesty rather than me?”

“I have, but he’s being stubborn about this. I’d never ask you to ignore a direct order but...actually, that’s exactly what I’m asking you to do,” Claude finished lamely. He should have brought pastries. Asking someone as straightlaced as Ingrid to break the rules always went better with pastries.

“You aren’t making a good case for yourself,” she said, now wearing her severe you’re-a-dishonorable-lout frown.

“Just hear me out,” he pled. “I promise it’s what’s best for everyone, including Dimitri.”

“...Fine. I’m listening.” 

Claude smiled. Maybe her seeing him as another Sylvain wasn’t all bad. “You’ve been in enough war meetings to know that the Kingdom lords are all assuming Edelgard will keep her right-hand man inside the palace to defend her, correct?” She nodded. “Well, I believe Hubert will be in Enbarr when we approach. He’s smart enough to realize that the city is the Empire’s last stand against an army this size. Once we take control of the square and advance on the palace, the war is as good as won.”

“What does it matter if he’s inside the palace or in the city itself? We’ll need to face him either way. He’d never surrender as long as Edelgard fights on,” Ingrid reasoned.

“That’s true, but if we face him in the city, we have to deal with his magic sooner rather than later. Our anti-magic forces are spread thin to deal with the fire orbs and probable reinforcements, so there’s no one to protect Dimitri from Hubert. That’s where you come in.”

Crossing her arms, Ingrid’s glower darkened. “You expect me to break formation on a hunch? You know I would protect His Majesty from anything, but the fire orbs still need to be dealt with.”

“And I promise you that the Alliance will take care of them. I have enough redundant forces on the west side that I can order to cover your absence,” he pushed back.

“Why not suggest that from the start?”

Claude dropped his gaze to glare at pegasus hooves shifting restlessly in the dirt. “I did. Dimitri insisted I needed more protection due to my injury, and most of the Kingdom lords were uncomfortable with the idea of the Alliance holding such crucial points to protect their king. They don’t understand that Hubert is a much bigger threat.” His eyes lifted, expression somber. If he took this seriously, she would have no choice but to do the same. “You know the truth, Ingrid. You know we can’t take the risk. If Dimitri falls, the Kingdom falls with it.”

Ingrid studied his face and tapped a meaningless rhythm on her arm. “We can’t afford to lose you, either. Are you  _ certain _ you don’t need those troops?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he quipped, knowing she wouldn’t trust his smile but trying it anyway. “Come on, Ingrid, this is an easy choice.”

He could see the weights teetering on her shoulders. On one, the call for a knight to follow the orders set before them without question. On the other, a knight’s duty to guard their king against all harm. It was a third, hidden weight, the one he had learned about from her and her old classmates, he was banking on. The need to protect a lifelong friend, even if it could ruin her chances of ever becoming a knight in the first place.

Ingrid set her jaw. “I will keep an eye on him. But only after he passes the Opera House. I won’t neglect the rest of my mission,” she answered.

Claude grinned. “Thanks, Ingrid. You always were the dependable one.”

Eyes scrunching with immediate distrust, her mouth opened to ask a question, but he dismissed himself while giving a friendly wave. To his satisfaction, she didn’t follow. Ingrid would fight better unburdened by the knowledge of how few troops he was keeping with him during his search for Petra.

Eventually, the sun rose high enough to coat the distant city of Enbarr in the crimson light of an ominous dawn. Eager to put the battle behind them, the army closed in on it like a wolf pack starving for fresh meat. The wave of northern soldiers crested over the horizon without a hint of subtly per Dimitri’s orders. He had demanded Enbarr see their numbers if only to give them a chance to evacuate their citizens should Edelgard refuse to surrender. They waited at the southern gates for the alarm to sound.

Nothing. A resounding silence as archers lined the wall, bows pointed at the tsunami of swords, axes, and spears knocking at their door. Edelgard was using Enbarr’s civilians as shields, trusting her opponents could not bear the thought of killing innocents.

“So this is the path you choose, Edelgard?” Dimitri muttered into the crisp morning wind. 

Claude watched Dimitri’s teeth grind as he gazed at the eerily quiet city. The Emperor had made a mistake. She may have known Dimitri as a too-soft boy or a beast whose heart had been ripped from his breast, but she did not know the king who stood before her castle now, wise enough to balance compassion with necessity.

The king of lions raised Areadbhar and roared for all of Fodlan to hear, “No more will suffer at the hands of the Empire! For all who have fallen and all who were forever changed by their loss, we will claim victory! This war ends today!”

If they weren’t about to massacre scores of soldiers, Claude might have smiled at the wall of cheers that rose at his back, so resonant they made his teeth ache. He raised Failnaut, inspiring another round of shouts from the Alliance.

“Kill none who surrender! We fight for Justice!” Dimitri bellowed.

His lance fell, and the siege began.

The arrows fired from the city gates were pebbles thrown into an ocean, swept away and forgotten with the relentless, rising tide. Claude paid them no heed, wholly focused on his mission as he spurred Estera into the air. He had feared she’d balk at the first blush of true battle like most wyverns did, but she charged towards the heart of the city with an ecstatic cry, fearless under the command of her rider. Her wingtips grazed the battlements, toppling an archer from his perch. Flying steeds surged into the city from above while Faerghus cavalry punched through the front gates.

Perching on a merlon amidst the chaos, Claude surveyed the sprawling city. Ballistas. Fire orbs. Winged beasts patrolling Enbarr’s wide channels. A winding path through the western quarter that the Alliance was responsible for taking, soldiers stationed at regular intervals to slow a cavalry charge.

Hubert clearly understood the risk of Enbarr’s layout - the circular paths that made everyday life easier for the citizens posed an enormous risk of encouraging a pincer attack. Judging by the shadowy figure stationed in front of the Opera House, he’d cut off one route using the Death Knight. That meant the best place to look for Petra was at the other natural bottleneck.

“Let’s go catch ourselves a princess,” Claude murmured to his wyvern, patting her on the neck.

She screeched as they took off again. They darted along the edge of the river, skimming rooftops and dodging bolts flung their way with tucked wings. Claude glimpsed the other Alliance lords as he raced past a foot battle raging below, but he didn’t slow his search.

There. A flash of magenta crouched near the far bridge.

“Hey, Petra!” Claude called out as he hovered above the small clearing she was guarding. His voice didn’t carry far compared to the sounds of a desperate assault happening behind him, but the Brigid princess had always had sharp senses. “Any chance you could step aside? I’d rather not hurt any more people than I have to today.”

Having been spotted, Petra rose to her feet and shook her head. “I am sorry we are meeting like this, Claude, but I will not surrender. I must be fighting for the Empire. I must win for Brigid.”

“Even if I offer to personally bring you back home to Brigid? We can make releasing your homeland part of the peace treaty when we defeat the Empire.” Claude lowered Failnaut. He had no intention of shooting her today.

“If I do not fight and you are having no success today, Brigid will suffer. I cannot allow that.”

Claude sighed, “I was afraid you’d say something like that. I guess you leave me no choice but to take you from Enbarr by force.” He dug his heels into Estera’s sides and she plummeted towards the earth, claws outstretched.

Petra didn’t flinch. Ducking beneath the initial swipe of talons, she drove her blade upwards. Claude threw his weight to the right and his wyvern jerked with him, catching the brunt of her swing on battle armor rather than vulnerable belly scales. Desperate wingbeats tried to gain altitude as a second viper strike snapped towards Estera’s tail. 

The blade bit flesh.

Enraged, the wyvern countered without any command from Claude. Her head flung towards Petra, fangs primed to sink into the hunter’s throat, as her rider desperately yanked on her reins. The teeth missed, Estera getting a mouthful of hair instead as Petra darted backward. The beast latched on as though she had made a killing bite while Petra pulled uselessly against the wyvern’s jaws.

“It’s over, Petra,” Claude said, ignoring the jolt of pain that shot down his arm from all that jostling in the saddle. “The Alliance will break that line behind me any second now. Surrender and we’ll take you home safely.”

Releasing a desperate growl, Petra’s sword hand flashed near her head and suddenly she was free, the wyvern’s mouth full of hair and the now short-haired princess dashing straight for Claude. His dagger barely turned aside her blade in time. Petra’s next swing broke Claude’s flimsy parry and threw him from the saddle entirely, his steed occupied with trying to scrape the awful texture from its tongue. 

Claude grunted as his shoulder hit the stone first, sending sparks like a lightning spell through the rest of his body. Estera growled, suddenly aware of her missing rider. Petra brandished her sword at the wyvern as though it was a wild beast on one of her hunts back home.

If Claude didn’t end this soon, there would be bloodshed. 

“Marianne!” he cried out, praying to the Goddess, to anyone out there who would listen, that she had followed his orders to charge past the front line when they got close.

Estera’s maw opened wide in warning, a horrific rumble emanating from her belly as she curled over her rider. Petra’s sword raised to end them both. Then, inexplicably, the blade shivered against the ruby sky. She tried to step forward, but her knees failed to hold and her head drooped. All at once, Petra crumpled to the ground beside Claude, body succumbing to a magically-induced slumber.

“Thanks for that,” Claude muttered. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to his blue-haired savior or whatever deity may have intervened. He rolled over to his knees, brushing off the dust as Marianne hopped off Dorte to check on him. 

“Are you hurt?” she said.

“I’m fine. Petra got her pretty good, though,” Claude replied, indicating his wyvern. 

He let Marianne work her magic on Estera, cooing encouragement to the war beast like most people talked to their babies, while he hefted Petra up into Dorte’s saddle. Judging by the shouts beyond the houses to the south, the rest of the Alliance forces would be here soon to secure the area. A good thing because the inhuman screeching from beyond the channel meant Imperial reinforcements were also almost upon them.

But it wasn’t the giant bird monsters that scared him most about the still-raging battle. It was the darkness coalescing to the northeast like a sinister cloud of death, clawing at some unseen target. Dark magic. The most wicked he’d ever seen.

Claude tapped Marianne on the shoulder. “Take Petra to safety and tell Leonie to stand guard on this bridge. We can’t let any more of those flying things through.”

“What about you?” she wondered, clumsily rushing to her feet in an attempt to follow his orders.

“I need to make sure something else is going according to plan,” he muttered. 

Claude threw himself into the saddle once again, urging his steed to race across the bridge. This area had already been scoured by the Kingdom. Relentless in their pursuit of victory, Faerghus’ army had left the broken bodies of Imperial soldiers in the streets like forgotten dolls strewn about a child’s room. Claude willed himself to ignore them. He ignored familiar faces pushing at the city limits, too, and the shouts of warning as he barreled across enemy lines to chase the source of that obscene magic he’d witnessed moments ago.

He slowed when he spotted a mountain of man and fur, leaning on his spear for support. A circle of death surrounded him, though Claude couldn’t tell if it was from his hand or someone else’s.

“Dimitri! Dimitri, are you alright?” Claude yelled. He swooped down, leaping from the saddle before his steed touched the ground.

The king gave a nod, slow but firm. “I will live, thanks to Ingrid. She saved me from the worst of Hubert’s magic.”

“So that is him out there?” Claude’s eyes flicked past the buildings to the north where blackness crystalized in the skies one again. “And you aren’t the one fighting him?”

“I need healing,” Dimitri replied. His left side dragged behind as he willed himself to walk southwards, towards where the bulk of his army was finishing off the Empire’s demonic beasts and seizing control of their weapons. “I don’t know how she got here, but Ingrid charged ahead to deal with him. I must have faith in her.”

“Yeah, I’m sure she can handle it,” Claude murmured. 

His eyes remained glued to the distant battle rising above the rooftops. A spray of feathers, a flash of steel, a crash of magic and Claude’s heart in his throat, wondering if Dimitri would ever forgive him if he’d miscalculated.

Too fast, the inky clouds faded. Someone had won. Claude wasn’t sure he could stomach his fear long enough to check who.

Luckily, he didn’t have to.

“The battle is ours! Your commander has fallen!” Ingrid’s voice carried across the battlefield, hoarse but clear as it bounced between the Enbarr’s numerous buildings. “Surrender, and you will be spared!”

Kingdom and Alliance voices took up a shout of victory. The fighting petered out in fits and starts, Imperial weapons clattering to the ground as demoralized men refused to carry on a useless struggle any longer. 

When at last the screams of humans and beasts faded into the bloody dawn, soldiers stopped to count their dead and tend to their wounded. Those who failed mourned their loss, while the triumphant sang songs of ancient battles won, their faces split in manic smiles. They laughed while weeping tears of joy and sorrow and emotions that had no name but were shared by all who’d survived this wretched day. Near the Opera House, Mercedes held her brother for the last time, knowing there was no forgiveness to ask for, but praying to the Goddess for his peace.

Like her, Claude did not smile at their victory, and neither did Dimitri. They stared at the Imperial palace, waiting for a surrender that would not come.

The end of this war still remained within those walls. Edelgard and the shadows who fed her armies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all - apologies to the Hubert fans who may have been hoping for an epic face-to-face showdown rather than a strategic last stand. What happened in this fic is somewhat reflective of my experience doing this map (which is my least favorite in the game because it takes so long - good job making it difficult Hubert) where anyone who ventures close to the commander without high Res and/or Canto gets nuked into oblivion.
> 
> Secondly, thank you all for bearing with me as I try to write these next couple battle-heavy chapters. They may take me a little longer than usual to write.
> 
> As always, thank you for the kudos/comments, and I'll be catching up with replies as soon as I can!


	20. The Mad Emperor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One final push is made into the imperial palace. The reality is worse than they imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A word of warning, this chapter has a few depictions of relatively gruesome deaths.

Controlling Enbarr took less than an hour. The nobles who had taken shelter in their capital city during the war loudly pledged their loyalty to the Kingdom before Dimitri opened his mouth to make a single demand. Claude would have laughed at how spineless the Empire’s nobility was if it didn’t mean they likely governed their people with equal self-centeredness.

Claude  _ did _ laugh when Lorenz tried to make them submit to the Alliance in the same way. Unsurprisingly, a gangly knight from a fractured country wasn’t as intimidating as a massive, warlord king.

Resulting tiffs aside, deals were eventually struck, temporary prisoners taken, and Enbarr put under military lockdown until Edelgard had been dealt with. Claude and the other leaders of their coalition took up posts outside the still-silent palace. The buzz of the unknown raced under Claude’s skin as he was helpless to do anything but wait for intelligence on what lay inside, while Alliance and Kingdom nobles made small talk to avoid looking like they were killing time rather than leading. Whispers stirred among the troops, questioning why they hadn’t ordered a raid on the Emperor yet. 

They were wasting precious time waiting for scouts and auguries. As much as Claude preferred to be prepared, high morale after winning a major victory was too great an advantage to ignore for the sake of a perfectly laid plan. Much more dallying and all that excitement would waste away into exhaustion. 

Claude patted Estera on the snout, holding out a finger warning her to stay, and went in search of Dimitri. He was blessedly easy to find, currently holding a conversation with some minor Kingdom nobles. A dull conversation, judging by Felix’s sneer at his side.

“Any word from Teach or the Knights?” Claude asked, sauntering up next to the king without a thought for the flies buzzing around him.

The lords fell silent, pinning him with distrustful stares, and Dimitri shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I’ve sent Ashe to scout ahead at the palace to see what he can find of their movements. I expect he’ll return soon.” He glanced towards the other nobles and cleared his throat. “Please leave us. I would like a private word with my advisor and Duke Riegan.”

They grumbled like put upon housewives being told to do the washing up but dutifully filed away, leaving the trio behind to discuss. Claude was starting to believe the authority of a king was an even greater weapon than Areadbhar.

“It may be irrational, but this is making me uneasy. I don’t think we should tarry here much longer,” Dimitri murmured when they were a safe distance away.

“It is sort of eerie, isn’t it?” Claude frowned at the unfeeling stone structure they’d been staring at since the city was taken, wondering what Edelgard was up to inside. “We’ve been fighting armies of monsters and mechanical knights led by people who steal bodies from the dead and rain death from the sky. It’s hard to believe they don’t have something awful in store for whoever tries to take out their sanctum.”

Felix huffed, crossing his arms. “Then what are we waiting for? The Knights either found what they were looking for or they’re dead. Standing around here will only give our enemy more time to prepare.”

“I don’t disagree. The longer we have to get ready, the longer they do, too. We lose our advantage the slower we move,” Claude replied. He paused, debating if he should give voice to the swirling paranoia holding him back.

“But…?” Dimitri prompted.

Claude sighed and shook his head. “...But Lysithea hasn’t been able to confirm whether or not there are more traps we’re walking into. Apparently, this whole place is dripping with the blood magic she’s been tracking. It’s so saturated she can’t figure out where it’s coming from.”

“That’s only more reason to attack now,” Felix asserted. “Trying to defend ourselves against a threat that’s everywhere is useless.”

“I’m inclined to agree. I would rather not march in blind, but doing nothing seems like a more sizeable risk,” Dimitri muttered, worrying gauntleted fingers over his chin. His eye lifted, looking beyond Felix to the small silhouette approaching at a full sprint from the direction of the palace. He raised a hand in greeting. “Let us see what Ashe has to report.”

The would-be-knight’s stride faltered in his rush to get to Dimitri, sending him toppling before the king’s feet. News spewed from his mouth in a frenzy. “Your Majesty! Your Majesty, we need to get inside! There’s something horrible happening, something evil and terrible and…”

“Slow down, Ashe,” Dimitri said. He dropped to a knee and guided the young man, who would have been mortified had he been able to process what was happening, back to standing. The other soldiers in the plaza threw surreptitious glances at the pair. “Breathe. What did you see?”

“I...It’s...The palace is deserted...but not the throne room,” Ashe forced out between gasps for air. “They were talking...something about being out of time? That they had to do it. I don’t know what ‘it’ was. I heard chanting and...and she  _ screamed _ …!” He shuddered like he’d come face-to-face with a ghost.

“She?”

“I think it was Edelgard,” Ashe squeaked.

Dimitri’s eye glazed over, lost in forsaken thoughts. In light of his silence, the Alliance leader took command, “We can’t wait any longer. It sounds like they’re preparing another one of their blood rituals for us.”

“I’ll collect the troops,” Felix said and turned to leave.

As if Felix’s face was what held him hostage to old memories, Dimitri snapped out of his reverie. His eye blazed and he corrected his advisor’s suggestion. “Only take a few of our best. If the palace is as deserted as Ashe says, we won’t need that many. The rest should stay here to protect the people in case something goes wrong.”

Felix nodded, approving of Dimitri's decision for the first time since Claude had met them. 

As they found out not ten minutes later, Ashe’s report had indeed been correct, and the inside of the palace was as ominously empty as the outside. They pushed deeper into the structure, following the maps given to them by Shamir as their armored footsteps echoed through the deserted halls.

A pulse of muffled voices carried from somewhere distant. The evil sound crept through the walls, growing stronger the closer they came to the main stairwell. Their climb was slowed by dread squeezing their throats shut as the twisted chanting echoed down the stairs. When they at last reached the uppermost landing, swarming with Edelgard’s personal guard, the discordant vocalizations crescendoed into a feverous cacophony, then abruptly stopped. 

An inhuman, feminine scream tore through the palace.

“There’s blood magic coming from the north. Probably the throne room,” Lysithea informed them, cool tone belying the panic they all felt. Her fingers glowed as she finished her scrying spell and prepared to fight her way in.

Ashe scurried to the top of the steps behind her, drawing his bow with shaking hands. “That voice...That was what I heard before!”

“We can’t waste time. Going around will take too long. The most direct route to the throne room is this way!” Claude said, winging sharply to his left. 

He cut past the bodies in his path, ignoring a glimpse of demonic beasts in the surrounding rooms. Of course, she had them even inside. In the enormous atrium before him, the heart of the empire was mere wingbeats away. A wall of soldiers protected the final double doors inlaid with ornate golden wings.

Claude surged forward and darkness crashed over his eyes. 

Panicked, he reeled back in his saddle. Claude blinked hard to clear his vision, but when his sight returned, the corridor had transformed. 

A field of corpses carpeted the stone. The faces of his companions stared up at the ceiling in masks of agony. Weapons stuck out at odd angles from their bodies, a sword through Lysithia's hands, a lance in Hilda's breast, an arrow puncturing Felix’s throat. The air crackled and Sylvain roasted in his midnight armor, his screams from being burned alive ringing in Claude's ears. A knife-toothed terror with claws like spears wailed as it ripped Ashe in twain. Areadbhar slipped through limp fingers, and the wicked cackle of a demon mocked his failure.

Dreams crumbling to ash before his eyes, Claude roared the battle cry of his homeland as tears blurred his vision.

"Claude...Claude!"

The world flipped and lightened as he was wrenched back from the threshold. The nightmare faded, and Claude was with everyone again, alive, well, and looking at him like he’d just suggested they jump into lava in to escape  Ailell’s  heat. Dimitri’s hand on his arm gripped tightly enough to bruise through his armor.

“I think…” Claude cleared his throat to banish its shaky edge. “I think we need to take another route.”

Felix deflected the blade of a swordsman, cutting clean through his chest with a snort. “We already figured that out from your screaming.”

“But didn’t you just get done saying the path around will take too long?” Hilda wondered.

Claude squeezed his eyes tight, willing himself to dissipate the fear that veiled his mind. His wits had kept him alive for 23 years. He wouldn’t let everything his parents taught him about survival go to waste because of some depraved magic trick.

Breathe. Think. Your friends need you.

“It will take too long if we stop to fight on our way to the side door,” Claude replied slowly, the words dribbling out as the frenetic turning of puzzle pieces in his mind slotted together parts of a bigger picture. He hoped it was the right one. “But all we need is one person to make it through who can stop her.” His gaze drifted to Dimitri. “Can you take care of the reinforcements, Hilda?”

Hilda groaned without looking in his direction, but Freikugel ripped through another Imperial soldier like he was a gelatin sculpture. “I guess I don’t have a choice with everyone depending on me. What are you planning?”

Claude held out his hand to Faerghus’ king. “Hop on, Dimitri. I’m going to take you to Edelgard.”

Too pressed for time to be surprised, Dimitri slashed at a guard and retreated to grasp Claude’s arm at the elbow. He hauled himself into Estera’s saddle behind her rider. Squawking at the doubled weight on her back, the wyvern dipped perilously in the air like a buoy trying to stay afloat during a thunderstorm.

Claude rubbed a hand along her neck. “It won’t be long. All we need to do is get down that hall. I know you can do it.”

She screeched back at him and gnashed her teeth.

“Are you sure she’ll be able to bear us both?” Dimitri asked behind him. He sounded like he would be less nervous about riding one of the demonic beasts into Edelgard’s throne room than the wyvern he was currently sitting on.

Claude chuckled. “She’s fine. She’d have thrown us if she didn’t want to do it.” Still hunched over her neck, he dug in his heels. “Come on, Estera!”

With a fearsome roar, the wyvern dove forward, leaving their companions in the entryway to carry on the fight. The string of rooms that stood between them and Edelgard were teeming with foes. Monsters growled as Estera’s wings swiped just shy of their outstretched claws. She rushed beneath a magical storm and pitched up over a brawler’s fists. Meanwhile, Dimitri engulfed Claude’s back, doing his best not to crush the one who was steering while he held on with the desperation of a drowning man. Each of Estera’s darting movements made his cape flap wildly, weaving between sword and claw and fire until they miraculously reached the end of the rooms unscathed.

Their goal was in sight. Claude eased up on the reins, ready to dismount as soon as they got close.

Lightning exploded a wyvern-length in front of their noses. Temporarily blinded and deaf, Claude didn’t see a ballista beside them taking aim. 

“Watch out!”

Dimitri’s hands covered his from behind, yanking the reins. Claude felt the whizz of a bolt by his left ear as they lurched toward the ground. Estera’s claws hit stone and Dimitri was off her back, driving his weapon through the soldier who had fired on them. Claude stumbled from the saddle a beat behind, shaking his head to clear his vision.

“A key! Look for a key!” he shouted as he nocked an arrow from his quiver.

Their charge hadn’t gone unchallenged. Although most of the troops they buzzed to get here were forced to turn back and deal with the Kingdom and Alliance soldiers holding the entrance, the ones from the surrounding rooms rapidly closed on their location. The stabbing of Claude’s wounds vanished beneath a blanket of adrenaline as he loosed arrow after arrow into soldiers trying to siege them from the right. Estera took up his left side, digging her teeth into a demonic beast who was ramming against the too-small southern doorframe in its mindless pursuit of prey.

Dimitri ripped through the pockets of the man he’d disemboweled and tossed something that glinted in Claude’s direction. “Here! Try this!”

Fingers fresh off the string, Claude’s hand flashed to catch it. An unmarked key. Switching out his sentry position with Dimitri, Claude ran to jam the key into the northern door. The archer cried out in relief when he felt the satisfying give of the locking mechanism beneath the twist of his wrist. He kicked it open.

“It’s open! Get in!” Claude shouted, waving his arm overhead for Dimitri and Estera to follow.

His wyvern barrelled through the threshold first, barely missing Claude. Dimitri was a second behind, wrenching Areadbhar from a man’s chest before he could follow. He slammed the door shut behind them.

Claude fumbled to relock the door from the inside. He jerked his head toward the edge of the tiny outer corridor they’d ended up in. “Barricade the door with that table. We don’t want them following us into the throne room.”

Before he finished speaking, Dimitri was hauling the massive stone furniture over like it weighed as much as a wooden shield rather than a sheet of solid marble. He slammed it against the doorframe. 

“As long as we hurry, that should hold long enough for us to finish this,” Dimitri stated. The king’s eye darted to the small stairs to his right, a servant’s passage that led down to the kitchens. “Let us hope no one else is waiting at the bottom of that stairwell.”

Claude nodded, reclaiming his seat in Estera’s saddle. “Edelgard is through the other door. Are you ready?”

He glanced over at Dimitri, expecting to see another storm brewing in his eye. To his surprise, it glowed as clear as Tistar, the brightest star in the sky and the last seen before the dawn.

“She has made her choice. It is time to end this,” Dimitri rumbled.

He kicked the door down.

Infested with mages, the throne room turned on the intruders like a swarm protecting their queen. But upon the Adrestrian throne sat no woman. A demon hovered above the seat like a goddess of carnage, the ichor of abominations flowing through its veins. Its eyes glowed within their void with the blood of the fallen, and its wings spread wide like the rigid corpse of a severed sun. The thing’s body, once petite, had stretched and bulked into a heinous mockery of the human form with blackened scales for skin and wicked stakes for fingers. 

And on its head, the most abhorrent sight of all - the Emperor’s horns.

“So this is where your path led you, Edelgard? That ruthless ambition you held to so proudly...was it worth throwing away your humanity?” Dimitri muttered.

He batted a sorcerer across the floor with a casual swing of his lance, marching straight for the throne. Covering him from the relative safety of the doorway, Claude picked off the others as they raised their hands to cast, keeping one eye on the remains of the fiery, noble girl they’d once known, crushed beneath the weight of her disfigured dreams. 

The Emperor didn’t answer Dimitri’s questions. It glowed and shrieked in a gruesome amalgam of a woman’s scream and a fiend’s vengeful howl, flinging spheres of sheer darkness at the advancing king’s chest.

He didn’t flinch. A tower of judgment, Dimitri pressed onward through the pain, plunging Areadbhar into the beast’s onyx flesh. 

“You waged a bloody war without thought of the cost for five years.”

He tore the blade free, spinning the monster with the force of his pull. He swung again, bearing down upon its back and lopping off a barbed wing.

“You threw away the lives of your friends. Your family. Your  _ people _ .”

The creature wailed, its protracted talons crashing down upon his head. Dimitri stabbed Areadbhar upwards, driving its blade through the thing’s palm like a nail into wood. 

“You fraternized with monsters who treated human lives as disposable experiments. Someone like you deserves no compassion!”

In a show of barbarous strength, Dimitri swung his spear overhead, blade still embedded in the beast’s flesh. He flung the demon from its throne, breaking its body upon the stairs as it rolled down the red carpet. The golden ram horns fell from its head. Standing upon the precipice, the warrior king clad in white armor dented and stained red from a war too long fought, stared down upon the wretched creature like an emissary of divine justice. He pointed Areadbhar at its throat.

“It’s over, El,” Dimitri murmured. “Let it be over.”

The beast dragged its head from the floor. It lifted a massive claw, oozing blood from fresh wounds. Its broken wings began to glow. Sluggish with resignation, Dimitri lifted his lance overhead to end the war.

A crimson arrow struck Edelgard through the back, and she collapsed to the floor, dead.

“Claude…?” Dimitri’s voice shook as his eyes lifted from the monstrous corpse, seeking out the archer who still held Failnaut extended from where he struck the finishing blow.

“It’s done.”

“...but…”

“No one deserves to kill family,” Claude said simply. 

He took a step forward, away from the milky wings of his wyvern and past the lifeless bodies of mages stippled with arrows. His heel struck the blood-slick floor of the throne room. 

The building shook from its foundation.

Stumbling, Claude caught himself with the edge of his bow, Estera whining uneasily behind him. “What was that…?”

The room shook again, harder. The columns which held the room aloft cracked ominously as Claude kneeled to keep from slipping. Dimitri leaned heavily on his spear to stay upright. The ground beneath them creaked and swayed, sounding as though it could disintegrate at any moment.

Claude raised his eyes to the ceiling, fearing it might give with these intense tremors. Like a premonition, the first stone fell. He scrambled to get out of the way, but Dimitri’s lance batted it harmlessly from the air and Claude was struck with a powerful sense of deja vu. 

This time, the sky didn’t stop falling with just one boulder. The heavens rained rock upon their heads, the imperial palace exploding in waves of percussive chaos as the roof and walls surrendered to some impossibly cataclysmic force. Claude thought to run, or risk navigating the debris to fly out a window, but he was cocooned by two defenders. Estera’s wings at his back, tented over him to keep him safe, and Dimitri wrapped around his front, sheltering him with one arm as he beat away stray tiles with the other.

Intermingled with the thunder of the palace collapsing, Claude swore he could hear another, sharper roar. It sounded familiar, like a melody he’d once heard as a child but couldn’t remember the name of.

Peeking through his guardians at the breached ceiling, he saw two things against the cloud-covered sky. First, the light javelins they’d witnessed at Fort Merceus hurtling towards Enbarr like a final decree from the mad Emperor to leave none alive. Second, a colossal pearlescent dragon, bleeding from wounds all over its body, flinging itself between the weapons of annihilation and the city below. 

A dragon he had seen once before, five years ago, at the beginning of this war.

“It’s back,” Claude whispered as the world crumbled around him. “The Immaculate One.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait - this chapter did not want to be written. It could probably still use some polish, but I decided that can wait until the story arc is finished. Thank you all for your patience and continued support!
> 
> In case it wasn't obvious by the ending, these last few chapters are where the canon divergence really comes into play. Most notably: Edelgard doesn't return to her human form after being transformed (we can call that a path-specific quirk since she's considerably more desperate than in BL or GD), and the main TWSITD base is hidden beneath Enbarr instead of in a random corner of the map, so they could use Rhea in their experiments when she was taken prisoner.
> 
> Also for those who missed it, there is now [a second side story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20822624). It's another smutty one with Sylvain and Dimitri, this time taking place after Chapter 17 (when Claude gets his wyvern). As always, it isn't necessary to read to appreciate the main plot, and please mind the tags.
> 
> Finally, I want to make a plug for a dear friend of mine and kickass programmer who has been diligently working to allow homegrown supports for fe3h! [Three Houses Supports Project](https://3hsupportsproject.tumblr.com/)
> 
> They're looking for volunteers to write missing supports (A supports, + supports, or ones between characters who don't have any at all), which will then be scripted using the game's engine. Even if you aren't a writer, if you like the idea of the project, please spread the word to who you can in the community. The more people who know about it, the more successful it will be. Thanks!


	21. Seiros and Nemesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude hunts down the Immaculate One. Fodlan faces the dawn of a new age.

By the time the shaking stopped, there was nothing left of the imperial palace. It wasn't obliterated, not like Fort Merceus, but the floors were full of holes, no roof remained to guard their heads, and many of the once sturdy walls now stood half their original height. Dimitri, Claude, and Estera had survived by huddling in the corner of the throne room, stumbling towards it in a tangle of limbs and wings to seek safer ground. The throne itself had fallen through sometime during the quake, along with most of the floor, and Edelgard's body with it.

Maybe that was for the best. Her defeat was decisive and tragic enough without her monstrous remains being paraded about after the war.

"Are you hurt?" Dimitri said, still shielding Claude with his body.

The archer shook his head, patting Dimitri on the chest to soothe the fear shimmering in his eye. “Not any worse than I was when we got here, thanks to you.”

“I cannot take full credit for it. Your partner protected us both.” Dimitri released him to gesture towards the wyvern. Claude shivered at the sudden cold.

Turning to face Estera, Claude scratched his winged companion her under the chin in gratitude. Wyverns in Almyra took years of training before they could override the instinct to fly away when they felt threatened, yet Estera had only known him for weeks and she was already fearlessly throwing herself between Claude and danger. It seemed the valiant nature of Faerghus residents wasn’t confined to a single species.

"How are your wings?" Claude asked her. He forced one open, using both hands to pull at an edge. The wyvern rumbled a warning, more pained growling than a real threat. Dimitri’s gloves still squeaked as they tightened around his lance. 

The wing’s membrane was intact, but some of her snowy scales around the shoulders had begun to mottle with dark purple undertones. Bruising, Claude guessed. He wasn’t used to it being so visible on a wyvern’s hide. He touched one of the discolored patches and she snapped her wing away from him, hissing.

“We’re going to have to find a way out of here without flying,” Claude informed the king who had ventured to the edge of the room. He was peering over a wall that only came up to his neck towards the rubble below.

“Then we’d best begin moving,” Dimitri said, frowning at what whatever he saw. “That creature which destroyed the javelins is down below, fighting someone. Who knows how long the structure will hold if it takes off again.”

“The Immaculate One,” Claude supplied.

“The what?”

“That’s the name of the dragon.”

Dimitri’s eyebrows raised. “How do you know that?”

“I found it in a book that had been banned by the monastery. I’ve never forgotten what it looked like after the siege five years ago.” Claude’s brow furrowed at the memory. “You remember it too, don’t you?”

Dimitri’s silence and bowed head said otherwise. 

They had fought side by side five years ago, separated from their houses by combat too bloody for two boys who had barely emerged into manhood. Dimitri did not speak that day. His jaw had set and maniacal laughter bubbled against his teeth, held in only through the force of their blows. He hadn’t reacted to anything other than the hunt for Edelgard, not even when a massive white creature crashed into the Adrestrian Empire, giving them time to retreat. 

At the time, Claude assumed Dimitri stayed silent because they were too busy fighting to provide commentary. The truth was Dimitri didn’t speak back then for the same reason a dog chasing a squirrel didn’t respond to their owner until the vermin’s neck had been snapped in its jaws.

Claude returned his attention to untangling Estera’s barding that had gotten damaged with the falling debris.“In any case, The Immaculate One appears in Lysithea’s research alongside crests and those blood magic monstrosities we’ve been fighting against. I guess it has some sort of feud with them? I don’t know why else it would keep targeting the Empire.”

“It’s not like the other demonic beasts we’ve seen,” Dimitri hummed, still watching the creature locked in combat far below them.

Claude nodded. “I agree. And I intend to find out why.”

Glowering, Dimitri swiveled on his heel to face the other leader. “Claude. Now is not the time for your curiosity. There is an entire city filled with people who could die if they’re not evacuated.”

“Which is why we left most of our men back there,” Claude countered. “They’ll be fine. I’m pretty sure we got the worst of it inside the palace.”

“Inside the palace…” Dimitri’s eye shot wide, like someone had stabbed him through his armor. “The others!”

“Dimitri!” Claude yelled uselessly after the king already dashing across the room. Dimitri frantically tried to clear a path to the door they’d entered from, digging like a mutt starving for its favorite bone.

Claude dropped the last of Estera’s damaged barding and groaned, “Dimitri, you can’t just throw things around willy-nilly. This place might collapse at any second!”

The king didn’t answer. He continued plowing towards the exit with the frenzy of a man who had outlived too many friends to trust in fate’s providence.

“Claude?” a muffled voice responded. It came from behind the mound of rock Dimitri was shoveling aside. “Claude, is that you? Are you with His Majesty? Dedue, I think they’re through here!”

The faint crunch of an axe splitting wood drifted through the destroyed walls, then heavy grunts and the splintering of weak fibers giving way. As Dimitri clawed at stones which lay at eye-level, Claude caught sight of the demolished door and people moving around behind it.

Ingrid and Dedue had survived, at least. 

Since Claude reasoned he would be more likely to get hit by Dimitri’s wild digging than help if he tried to assist, he took over communication duties, “We’re alright in here. Everyone okay out there?”

Dedue’s grunts continued as he ripped the door off its hinges. Ingrid responded in his place, “We’re fine. We were able to take shelter in the main hall. Marianne and Mercedes are handling everyone’s injuries while we secure the palace.”

“That should be easy enough with the place destroyed and Edelgard dead.” 

One of the boulders cracked in Dimitri’s grip.

“...Understood,” Ingrid answered. “I will spread the word of her fall and demand the remaining soldiers' surrender. Dedue, please free His Majesty.”

“I will not fail.” 

Nor would it take long, judging by the rapidly expanding hole near the top of the door frame. Dedue’s face was nearly as severe as Dimitri’s in his clambering to free his king. Within minutes, the door was clear, and Dedue and Dimitri circled each other looking for injuries and sighing relieved platitudes.

Claude took Estera’s reins, leading her past the pair into the modest room beyond. He was happy for their peace of mind and concerned for the rest of his friends. Still, with the mysterious Immaculate One, having just destroyed city-annihilating weapons in an unnatural exhibition of power, now fighting a battle not more than four stories beneath him, Claude’s need to get answers for the sake of Fodlan overrode his responsibilities as a leader of the Alliance. Lorenz and Hilda would manage fine without him. He started down the staircase.

“Where are you going, Claude?” Dimitri called after him. He was still half-turned towards Dedue, pulled from their conversation by Claude’s retreat.

The archer shrugged. “As I said earlier, I’m going to get to the bottom of whatever’s going on down there. I’d like to stick it out up here, but that fight isn’t going to last forever.”

“At least wait for Lysithea,” Dimitri pleaded. “If this Immaculate One is fighting the blood mages, Lysithea is the only one who can confirm we’ve found our enemy.” His lip twitched, fighting against a snarl. “The ones who orchestrated the fall of Duscur and Fhirdiad must answer for their crimes.”

Dedue nodded, fearsome emotion pulling his scars taught. “I agree. If you can be certain that these are the men who framed Duscur, I will gladly accompany you as well.”

As much as waiting was at the bottom of Claude’s to-do list while distant monster cries assaulted his ears, he couldn’t deny that observing the fight would be safer with Dimitri and Dedue around and that he would get more answers with Lysithea’s help. Claude tapped his foot and sighed, throwing his arms over his head in defeat. “Alright, alright, you guys have convinced me. As long as no one’s dragging their feet, I can wait long enough to get some backup. I’m not quite masochistic enough to jump into battle with a dragon alone.”

Dimitri muttered an order to Dedue who immediately stepped over the marble table they’d wedged in front of the now-destroyed door to the rest of the palace. He disappeared at a slow jog, weighed down by his armor and battle-fatigue. Lysithea arrived not seconds later, marching ahead of Dedue and several other soldiers with a scrying spell’s glowing lines emanating from her fingertips.

“They’re downstairs,” she informed Claude, brushing past him without preamble.

He kept pace at her side. Behind him, he could hear Dimitri and Lorenz organizing the remaining soldiers. Their footsteps followed not long after. 

“Then you think the Immaculate One is fighting them, too?” Claude asked her.

“I’m sure of it.”

Navigating the palace ruins wasn’t any easier at ground level. An oppressive aura of dread surrounded the battlefield they were marching towards, draconic howls now mixing with more familiar noises as they neared. The clang of steel on steel. The crack of magic bearing down upon an enemy. Yells from voices they’d known since their Academy days.

“It’s coming from here,” Lysithea hissed when they finally reached a precipice overlooking the conflict. Jagged rock steps gave way to metal ramps that gleamed with the same eerie light as the mechanical knights they’d fought in Fhirdiad. “The ones responsible for the experiments...the deaths...Duscur…they’re down there.”

"Is that Areadbhar?" Dimitri mumbled, eye wide and fingers tense around his lance.

His relic wasn’t the only silhouette they saw cutting across the foreign metallic landscape below. Failnaut, Thunderbrand, Freikugel, the Lance of Ruin - each of the Heroes’ Relics in a dark mirror, held aloft by reanimated corpses as they clashed with the Knights of Seiros. Leading the way, a monstrous brawler with silver hair and void-kissed eyes swung a shadowed mockery of the Sword of the Creator. His blade bent around Byleth’s lighter one in search of another target.

The unholy weapon slit the Immaculate One’s flesh. The dragon screeched, a nightmarish sound that forced Claude to cover his ears. 

It crumpled. Light flashed. And then, in the place of the massive beast, an unconscious, bloody Lady Rhea laid on the ground.

Shocked shouts ripped from Claude’s companions, but they were drowned out by the dark leader’s laughter. It sliced at their ears like swords screeching across a shield. The man spread his arms wide, welcoming the newcomers while his companions held the Knights of Seiros to a stalemate.

"How kind of you to bring the true relics back to us,” he chortled. He turned his wicked grin on the unconscious Rhea. “We will enjoy destroying you with your kin, Seiros. I’ve been waiting for this day since Zanado."

"Seiros...?” Dimitri muttered. “Kin…?”

Claude scowled at Rhea’s right-hand man who hovered over her body on his wyvern. This was it. The secret the two of them had tried to keep from him and the rest of Fodlan. He didn’t understand it, but he’d be damned if he let Seteth squirm his way out of this, no matter how badly Rhea had been injured. 

The archer palmed Failnaut but didn’t give the order to support the Knights still fighting for their lives. “Seteth, what is he talking about?"

Diving out of the sky to avoid a shadowy arrow, Seteth huffed, "I cannot speak of it. Lady Rhea strictly forbid..."

"Now is not the time for secrecy!" Claude snapped. The Alliance members shifted beside him, warily observing his outburst and the ongoing battle.

Standing far from the front lines, Flayn looked up at her supposed brother with pleading eyes. He grumbled. Letting Catherine take over his position holding off the Heroic doppelgangers, Seteth veered sharply from the battle to hover in front of Claude and their ragtag band.

"I will be brief. There is no time for details,” he uttered decisively. “Lady Rhea was once known as Seiros. Her race was wiped out at Zanado generations ago by these men. Your relics were forged from the bodies of her fallen brothers and sisters. Your crests came from their blood."

The nobles murmured among one another, their reactions ranging from disbelief to shock, several looking ill as they stared at their weapons, but Claude continued his adamant quest for answers.

"And these guys are...?"

"Nemesis and the 10 Elites, brought back to life to destroy us and the world using Lady Rhea's blood."

"So the stories about the 10 Elites being the good guys are all hogwash," Claude concluded under his breath.

"I can explain once this battle has ended.” Wearing a staunch frown, Seteth lifted his axe in a salute. “Fight with us, I implore you. We need your strength. The fate of the world depends on stopping them."

Claude didn’t have a chance to weigh his remaining questions against Seteth’s answers. Someone else was already stalking towards the battlefield with lance in hand and a heartless scowl.

"The 10 Elites, huh? So that means you must be Gautier." Sylvain’s eyes glowed like a funeral pyre, reflecting the Lance of Ruin pointed at his ancestor. "I'll be collecting the debt you owe me now."

Behind him, Felix scoffed, “Whatever these things are, they don’t deserve to live. The dead are meant to stay buried.”

“Yes,” Dimitri rumbled. 

Fury weaved into that single word. It was the sort of fathomless hatred that had terrified Claude when they met again at Gronder, tamed through months of hard work but never extinguished. Dimitri’s empathy for the downtrodden could not tolerate these monsters tainting the lives of his people any longer. 

The savior king’s eye gleamed like molten snow. His gauntlets squeezed Areadbhar hard enough to snap a tree in two. When he called out to his companions, it was in a clear voice that roared like lighting, as destructive as it was brilliant.

“You will never torment another soul, Nemesis. For all the people of Fodlan you have wronged, we will crush your bones and send you the Eternal Flames!”

Dedue echoed his sentiment with a wordless warcry, as did the rest of his Blue Lions. Dimitri charged into the fray behind Sylvain, and they chased at their liege’s heels.

“The Alliance won’t fall behind. Come on, everyone. For Fodlan!” Lorenz cried, leading the Alliance charge without waiting for Claude’s guidance.

Lysithea’s black magic twisted around her like shadowy vines ready to strangle her enemies. “You...you will answer for what happened to my family!”

“The fate of the world is way too much responsibility for me, but I guess I have no choice, ” Hilda groaned, her grumbling belied by her enthusiastic pursuit of her housemates with Freikugel at the ready.

Soon enough, Claude was the only one who remained. He rested one hand on his steed’s shoulder while the other gripped Failnaut. He couldn’t feel anything but the beating of his heart in his throat, paralyzed by his racing thoughts. 

There were too many variables. Too much left to chance. This should have been a moment of triumph, learning Fodlan’s truth was as disturbed as he guessed all along, so why did his boots stay rooted to the stone as if they’d been nailed there? How could he react to the sprawling implications of Fodlan’s draconic archbishop, the nobility’s relics and crests being yet another brand of blood magic, or their ancestral legends having been resurrected with empty eyes identical to Edelgard’s demonic form? Did he fight here as Duke Riegan, for the sake of Fodlan? Or was he an imposter who had no right to make these sorts of massive decisions for a land he didn’t grow up in?

_ Don’t hesitate, boy _ ! the voice of an old mentor growled in his ear.  _ Unless you want to be dead, your doubts can wait. _

Setting his jaw against the storm raging in his mind, Claude raised Failnaut to the sky. He had people counting on him. Now was not the time to falter.

“So Fodlan throws off the shackles of the past at last,” he mumbled. “I wonder what this means for the future.”

Claude loosed the last of his arrows into the air and they fell upon his foes like bloody rain. Below him, abominations screamed as new holes were torn through their bodies. Knights and Foldan soldiers capitalized on the openings, ripping through the flesh of their foes with a brutality that rivaled Dimitri at his most mad, but Claude felt no fear. As a man who had only recently learned to seek out the bonds he had been offered, he smiled at the sight.

They were fighting to save their friends. Their home. Claude hoped, one day, he would know that level of conviction, too.

“It’s over,” Byleth muttered when the last of the monsters was returned to their grave. Nemesis collapsed, impaled by the weapon he’d carved from the corpse of his enemies so many generations ago.

No cheers rose from the surviving soldiers. They wheezed and leaned on one another, their triumphant laughter choked by the numbness of the absurdity they’d just witnessed. Sobs bounced off the dimming metal floors, relieved, exhausted, pained, and despairing. This was a victory for Fodlan, but none of them would walk away from Enbarr’s rubble unchanged by the revelations met here today.

“Oh no...Lady Rhea,” Mercedes whispered, her hands folded over her heart.

The Archbishop lay unmoving on the floor, pale as the white of her draconic form as if all the blood had been drained from her body. The Knights huddled around her. Cradling her in their arms, Sword of the Creator cast aside, Byleth’s stoic face dripped with tears.

“I’m sorry,” Dimitri murmured gently, Alois stepping aside for him to approach. He limped as he walked, fresh cuts visible across his face and hip that their healers were too spent to mend. “It is because of her sacrifice we all live. I promise she will not be forgotten. Nor will she be alone.” He knelt down, placing Areadbhar beside Rhea’s limp body. “Rest in peace with your kin, Lady Rhea...Seiros.”

If it hadn’t been such a somber occasion, Claude would have laughed. Only Dimitri would trust Seteth’s words about Lady Rhea’s true identity with only half the story told. And only he could look at someone who had controlled Fodlan and lied to them for generations yet only care about the tragedy of a family lost. What a foolish, sentimental, loving man.

“I’m with you, Your Majesty. There’s been enough bloodshed over crests and relics for a dozen lifetimes. I think it’s as good a time as any to put it behind us,” Sylvain echoed. He knelt next to his king, relinquishing the lance that stole what little life his crest hadn’t from his brother.

Even if it was impulsive, Claude couldn’t disagree with the sentiment of either of them nor Felix and Ingrid who tossed down their relics beside those of their friends. Fodlan needed change to move forward. Claude only hoped it wouldn’t come at the cost of being conquered by their less-welcoming neighbors.

When Catherine laid her Thunderbrand atop the pile, Claude followed her lead, surprised at how happy he was to lose the weight of Failnaut after so long trying to get his hands on a relic. The other Alliance members mimicked him, too, no one wanting to be the greedy one who held onto their personal power in the face of overwhelming solidarity.

“We’ll need to find a way to make sure no one comes down here looking for these. If someone without a crest was to get their hands on them, it would be disastrous. And for someone with a crest, they could start another war,” Claude muttered, staring at the pile of weapons and the faithful weeping over Rhea’s body. “I don’t usually advocate for revisionist history but…”

“There will be time for that later,” Dimitri whispered. The heat of his hand warmed Claude’s shoulder, and the king led him away with a soft touch. 

_ Let them grieve _ , the compassionate glint in his eye said. 

Claude nodded to the unspoken request. Putting his arm around Dimitri’s shoulder, they limped out of the underground and into the sunlight together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few housekeeping things:
> 
> You may have noticed the 'hiatus' tag pop up earlier. This doesn't mean I'm taking a full hiatus, but since this month is Halloween and I throw a giant party that I've been working on for the past 4 months, my time to write will be unpredictable at best. That means more random updates through these last couple of chapters and less time to respond to all the wonderful comments you guys write for me. I do still intend to catch up, but it may take 7 days instead of 1-3 to respond to some things. Sorry!
> 
> Also, for those who were looking forward to a big, epic battle with Nemesis, I apologize wholeheartedly for the actual fight only lasting about two very vague paragraphs. This chapter gave me fits since I don't find the whole TWSITD plot very compelling, especially given the sudden reveal, and I struggled to write anything for Nemesis and co. that wouldn't be 1000 words of filler. I decided to post this even though I'm not satisfied with it just so I can move into the interpersonal/heartstring-tugging stuff that's more interesting for me as a writer.
> 
> Thanks again for your patience and support!


	22. Endings and Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fodlan navigates the aftermath of the war. Claude's friends see him off in Derdriu.

Claude recalled his mother once told him that the reason Almyra always made war was because peace was too difficult. He was starting to understand what she meant.

Now officially led by Byleth, the church was forced to make an official statement about Rhea’s death and the disappearance of the Hero Relics. They spun a tale about the Goddess ushering in a new era, saying she had accepted the sacrifice of her Archbishop to end the war and believed her people would no longer need weapons like the relics in the peaceful future she envisioned. The Church’s official statement suggested both Rhea and the relics had been enshrined in the Holy Tomb, though truthfully, their final resting place was an unmarked grave far from Garreg Mach. Only those present at her death were allowed to know the truth. After a lengthy debrief, Claude suspected there was still more Seteth hadn’t told them about Nemesis, the Elites, and his own involvement with Rhea, but with the Church so severely weakened after the war, he decided he could let that one secret go for now.

More concerning was the Empire. With Edelgard gone and the existing ruling structure purged by her reign, the Adrestrian Empire fell into chaos. Brigid, now reunited with their princess and freed of Imperial control, annexed the south-western corner of Fodlan with minimal resistance. The rest of the Empire fractured into smaller city-states. The largest, now called Adrestria, remained centered around Enbarr and reinstated a ruling class with a mixture of new and old Houses coming to power. The smaller ones run by local officials pursued talks of creating a country free of nobility between them. In the case of those areas whose fortresses had been occupied for months during the war, some discussed pledging allegiance to Leicester or Faerghus to speed their return to normalcy instead.

The leaders of the Alliance and Kingdom held many heated summits in the weeks following the fall of the Empire. Claude continued to beg for Faerghus to step in and stabilize the area by annexing Adrestria and the neighboring states, while Dimitri refused, insisting that the Kingdom itself was still too unstable and that an attempt at unification now would only breed more conflict. The Alliance had no desire to claim the territory either, given the already tenuous situation between their houses.

Ultimately, they compromised by instating a Fodlan council. Delegates from each major region, including the reformed Church under Byleth and Brigid under Petra, would attend once a month to discuss their grievances and rebuilding efforts. Per Claude’s suggestion, the summit would rotate locations rather than take place in Garreg Mach.

It wasn’t quite open borders or international trade but it was a start. If Fodlan could learn to coexist as autonomous entities, maybe there was more hope for them reaching out beyond their borders as well.

As for him, his work was far from over. It was two months after the end of the Empire that Claude delivered the news to the other Alliance leaders. House Riegan would step down as head of the Leicester Alliance with the recommendation of House Goneril or House Gloucester to take the role for their exemplary service during the war. Claude relinquished his claim as Duke in the same breath, appointing Judith to manage Derdriu and internal affairs until a replacement could be found. Claude was going on what he called a well-earned vacation. He wouldn’t say where.

The headache Claude got from that meeting almost made him wish he’d hopped a boat to Almyra without telling anyone he was leaving. It only got worse when Dimitri got wind of what happened.

“I hear you haven’t let them know where you’re headed.”

Claude grimaced as the king approached the docks, right on time. How Claude wished he still had his cape to hide the way his hand clenched around the wooden post he was leaning on while he stared at the open water. Almyra didn’t allow Alliance colors across their border, which meant along with giving up his Duke title, Claude had left behind all the fancy clothes that came with it. Instead of a cravat flapping in the ocean breeze and gloves guarding his hands, he wore a tunic that bared his neck and his fingers chilled as saltwater sprayed up in a fine mist from the boards beneath his feet.

The king slowed to a halt beside him, and Claude smiled up at Dimitri like the old days. Bright grin, guarded eyes.

"I don't think they're ready for that shocker just yet,” Claude said with a sad laugh. “Giving up House Riegan and revealing I'm one of the enemy in one fell swoop? Not exactly the sort of thing people appreciate. Especially right after a war."

Dimitri crossed his arms, giving Claude an exasperated glare that rivaled Seteth’s when he’d suspected the house head had been pranking his fellow students. "They're your friends. They deserve to know."

Claude shrugged. He turned his brittle smile to face the distant horizon. "Eventually. Maybe after I've set them up with a few more Almyrans. Who knows, some undercover soldiers might be able to make friends with the ones at Fodlan’s Locket without raising suspicions. Once their identity was revealed, Holst and the others would be forced to admit they’re wrong about the Almyran people."

"Claude...” The schemer’s mouth snapped shut. As frightening as Dimitri was when he called for blood, the way he whispered Claude’s name like he was worth worrying over was far worse. “Do you really think deception is the right way to foster trust?"

"Oh boy, here comes a lecture on integrity. Sylvain told me yours are the best. I’m honored I’ll get to hear one before I leave,” Claude mocked. 

Shame flooded him as soon as he said it. He may not have appreciated being talked down to, but that was no reason for cruelty. Dimitri closed his eye and breathed in the calming, crisp sea air. Claude bit his lips, searching for the right words to apologize.

"...did I ever tell you about how I taught orphans how to handle a sword when I was at the academy?" Dimitri murmured into the breeze.

The archer cocked his head, trying to piece together what fractured leaps Dimitri’s thoughts had taken. He glanced up for guidance, but the king’s unfathomable eye remained as placid as the distant ocean it stared at. At least he didn’t seem angry. Removed, perhaps, like he so often was when he spoke of difficult memories to Claude.

"I don’t think so,” Claude said. “But now I'm curious where this is going. Tell me."

"They used to watch me train along with the other knights. They were amazed by us. I have never been good with children, but I could not refuse their earnest desire to learn to fight as we did. In a way, I have always felt somewhat responsible for orphans like them."

A fond smile tugged at Claude’s lips. "That sounds like you. Always looking out for the underdog."

Dimitri didn’t return his smile. 

"After the fall of Garreg Mach, they were eventually forced to take up with a band of thieves. War left them with no choice. Those orphans turned the blades I had taught them to wield against me when I met them again during my exile. They tried to steal my spear and armor.” Dimitri’s voice dropped like a stone plunging to the frigid ocean floor. “I killed them to protect myself."

Disgust crawled through Claude. When embroiled in strategy sessions with generals and nobles, it was easy to forget how war touched the lives of the less fortunate. He could scarcely imagine what those orphans had gone through. To have their lives collapse at such a young age, only to find out the world could still take more from them. 

"I assume there is a moral in this wonderfully morbid story?" Claude muttered.

"You can’t predict the future, Claude. Maybe, if you sneak more Almyrans over the border under false pretenses, some people from the Alliance will build personal bonds and overcome their prejudice. Maybe they’ll execute the Almyrans for their deceit and believe the Alliance is filled with spies, including you.” Dimitri’s eye darted over to Claude, filled with poorly hidden concern. “I understand if you’re not ready to tell them who you really are. Truly. I have my own demons I keep close to my heart. But I hope you will trust them to make their own decision about how much you’re worth to them when the time comes. They’re your friends. They deserve your faith, no matter what happens.”

Dimitri’s hand lurched up to clasp Claude’s shoulder, squeezing a silent affirmation. Claude was startled by how much it made him want to live up to his friend’s expectations. Before he had met Dimitri, not the perfect prince of their teenage years but the scarred survivor who loved others too readily and hated himself too much, Claude had never thought faith was possible for someone like him. Now, the messy, dangerous vulnerability that came with trust was something he cherished. 

That wasn’t to say it was easy for Claude to trust. His stomach still threatened to empty every time he thought of admitting his heritage to the people around him, a confirmation that he and Dimitri were cut of wildly different cloth. But as different as they were, Claude was starting to believe that sharing their patterns with one another was the wisest gamble he’d ever made.

“I’ll think about it.” Claude chuckled, shaking his head, “Listen to me, I’m starting to become a soft-hearted sucker like you.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Dimitri wondered.

_ Not anymore _ , Claude wanted to say.

“Only if it stops me from realizing my dream,” he said instead.

Dimitri squeezed his shoulder again, firm and grounding. “I hope you know I’ll do whatever I can to help you.” He paused to give an amused huff. “Now that I think of it, I’m sure that was your plan all along. But I don’t mind going along with this scheme for a dear friend.”

Claude’s stomach flipped again, and he wondered if this was what it felt like for those unfortunate enough to get seasick. He wasn’t sure if it was because Dimitri had so severely misread Claude’s original intent in building a friendship between them, or because he realized everyone else would be here soon and he still hadn’t said what he needed to. 

Removing the hand from his shoulder by taking it in his own, Claude turned to face Dimitri. 

“Actually...there is one more thing you can help me with,” he said somberly.

Dimitri’s eye scrunched, immediately concerned. “What’s wrong?” 

“First, I need to tell you something.” A steadying breath. It was pathetic how telling the truth scared him more than any assassin ever had. Claude’s eyes looked past Dimitri as he carried on, searching for uninvited guests who might try to steal his secrets. “You know that my mother was part of the Riegan household, correct?” He saw Dimitri nod out of the corner of his vision. “The truth is she didn’t run away from Fodlan to marry a random Almyran. The Almyran she fell in love with was the king. I’m their son. Their first and only son.”

Dimitri blinked, confused. “You’re...the crown prince of Almyra…?”

Claude swallowed. He nodded, choking on the tongue dead in his mouth.

A snort. A stifled snicker. Then uproarious, musical laughter like none Claude had ever heard poured out of the prince. He doubled over in mirth, still holding Claude’s hand as though he needed it as an anchor lest he forget how to breathe. Claude might have likened Dimitri’s voice to a warm velvet blanket, something everyone needed more of in their lives, but having his greatest secret treated like a joke by the most sincere man in all of Fodlan stung.

Claude forced a smile with bitter eyes. “Jeez, I know I’m not exactly ‘crown prince’ material like you, but you don’t need to laugh that hard at me, Your Royalness. I’m afraid you might choke.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Dimitri said as he gasped for air. “I swear I’m not laughing at you!”

“Then what are you laughing at?” Claude asked incredulously.

“I’m laughing…” Dimitri broke into another involuntary peel of laughter. He held up the hand Claude wasn’t grasping to beg for a moment to compose himself. Carefully, he tried again, “I’m laughing because I’m amazed by your ability to keep secrets from me. It is not absurd that you are a crown prince, it is absurd that I thought I knew you so well and I never once anticipated this. Please don’t take offense. I’ve been told many times that my sense of humor is questionable at best.” He smiled, tender and apologetic, and clasped both hands over Claude’s. “Believe me, Claude, you’ll make a fine king one day.”

Claude tried to chuckle but it came out as a squawk, tearing his hands away to throw them behind his head so fast he felt the rugburn across his palms. He twisted his face towards the ocean, hoping his elbow would hide the burn of his cheeks.

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” he said.

“I mean it,” Dimitri insisted. “You are brave, tenacious, and have a vision for the world beyond anything I could hope to comprehend. You thrived in a land you didn’t know anything about when you arrived. More than that, you reshaped Fodlan, reshaped  _ me _ , to ensure a better life for future generations. I’m in awe of you, Claude. I hope to become half the king you will be when you ascend to the throne in Almyra.”

Claude was sure the blush had spread down his neck now. 

“You sure know how to lay it on thick,” he huffed. Claude scratched above his temple, trying desperately to clear his head before he said something embarrassing. “Don’t think I’ll take it easy on you when I’m king just because we’re friends. You still have a promise to uphold to me.”

“Hm?”

“Repayment for the debt you owe.” Any debt between them had been erased a dozen times over by now, but they’d made an unspoken agreement as friends often did to pretend one existed for the sake of favors. “You didn’t give me a unified Fodlan, so I expect an international council.”

Dimitri sputtered. “Claude! The war has just ended! I’m still in favor of the idea, but how could I possibly arrange something like that right now?”

“Oh, you couldn’t. Trying now would be a disaster, actually. The territories here are going to be a mess for a while yet, and you still barely know anything about the countries outside of Fodlan’s borders,” Claude said sagely. He leaned back so Dimitri could see his sly grin. “That’s why I want you to promise you’ll visit Almyra in six months. Think of it as an educational field trip with a friend.”

“You want me to…” Dimitri’s words trailed away. His eye swirled like the breaking waves. “Are you certain that will be possible? Inviting a leader from the Alliance for peace talks I could understand, but Faerghus and Almyra have never had relations.”

Claude bit the inside of his cheek to stop a comment about what kind of ‘relations’ he was expecting when he came to visit. All those chess games with Sylvain had ruined him for this sort of conversation. 

“If you’re creating an international council, then Faerghus needs to build a relationship with all nations, not just Sreng, Adrestria, and the Alliance. Besides, when has one of my schemes ever come up short? Give me six months and you’ll have an invite to the capital,” Claude assured the king. 

He held out his hand. Dimitri took it with a smile. 

“Six months,” he parroted. The rolling thunder of footsteps on wood approached from the west accompanied by the pleasant chatter of friendly voices. “I’m afraid we will have to continue this discussion via letters. I do believe that’s the rest of your send-off now.”

A much bigger send-off than Claude expected, truthfully, with most of the old Golden Deer and Blue Lions making the trip to Derdriu. Hilda waltzed right up to him, hands clasped behind her back but eyes so intense Claude feared he was about to be shoved off the dock and have to swim to Almyra.

“Are you seriously not going to tell us where you’re going?” she asked for the dozenth time since the Roundtable meeting.

“Not yet. But I promise, I’ll be back,” he replied once again.

Hilda sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you, Claude. Wherever you’re going, you’d better write at least once a month. I don’t know how I’m going to survive all these politics without you there.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short. I’m sure you’ll find another sap to take over your work before the end of the week,” Claude laughed.

Lorenz chimed in from a few paces away, “You needn’t worry, Hilda. You are a most capable woman. Although Claude’s unique influence will certainly be missed, I assure you I will be there if there’s anything you need assistance with.”

“Aw, thanks so much Lorenz!” she chirped back.

_ And there’s the sap, right on schedule _ , Claude thought with a smirk.

They traded hugs and handshakes after that, each of his companions taking turns to say their goodbyes. Claude wished Lysithea luck in finishing her research of Nemesis and the crests. Sylvain demanded they continue their games through correspondence chess, claiming he’d go crazy without a break from all the work in Gautier territory. Ashe pushed a favorite book into Claude’s hands, saying the idea of sailing across the ocean made a perfect start to an epic adventure, but every great hero needed a reminder of the people waiting for him at home. If that wasn’t enough to make a man want to dissolve into tears, Mercedes joined him second to last, holding both his hands with a serene smile.

“Thank you, Claude,” she said sweetly. “Without you, none of us would have made it this far. I’m so grateful to be your friend.”

“I’m grateful to be yours, too, Mercedes. Thank you for believing in me since the beginning,” he whispered, not trusting the strength of his voice anymore.

She merely smiled, squeezing his hands once more before letting them drop. “Thank you for being someone worth believing in.”

When she stepped away, Dimitri took her place and Claude gave thanks that the king was so large. No one would be able to see him cry behind Dimitri’s broad shoulders.

The king gathered him in an impulsive hug. Claude’s face buried in his shoulder, tears soaking into the fur, while Dimitri whispered into his ear.

“As you told me once, the stars are the same everywhere, no matter what names we call them. Look to them if you ever miss us. Travel without regrets, my friend.”

_ ‘Travel without regrets, my son,’ _ his father had said six years ago as he stepped onto a boat headed for Fodlan.

Claude’s fingers clenched against Dimitri’s back, hidden by his long cloak. Of course, Dimitri had done his research on Almyra. This was his final gift - a symbol of his dedication to Claude’s dreams. Their friendship.

He had to lick his lips twice before he could rasp the customary response into Dimitri’s ruff. “I won’t regret. The wind will take me where I’m meant to be.”

Dimitri stayed there for several seconds longer, ignoring the uncomfortable silence of the others while Claude steadied his quaking breaths and dried his face against the king’s cloak. When he pulled away, Dimitri patted Claude on the arms one last time.

“Go on. They’ve been waiting too long, don’t you think?”

Claude nodded and raised a hand in farewell, smiling at the friends he’d made in Fodlan with watery eyes. “I’ll see you all later. Take care of things here for me, okay?”

With a deep breath, he turned his back, stepping onto the ship where a crew prepared to set sail and Estera waited for him below deck. From the realization of one dream to the start of the next. Almyra’s prince was coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "This is everything I have to tell you about love: nothing. [...]
> 
> Only that the world out there is complicated,  
and there are beasts in the night, and delight and pain,  
and the only thing that makes it okay, sometimes,  
is to reach out a hand in the darkness and find another hand to squeeze,  
and not to be alone. [...]
> 
> Somebody's got your back.  
Somebody knows your worst self and somehow doesn't want to rescue you  
or send for the army to rescue them.
> 
> It's not two broken halves becoming one.  
It's the light from a distant lighthouse bringing you both safely home  
because home is wherever you are both together."
> 
> ~Neil Gaiman
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Head to the next chapter for some bonus ending cards.


	23. Supporting Cast Ending Cards

**Dedue** \- Acting as Dimitri's vassal, Dedue dedicated himself towards the restoration of Duscur in Faerghus. He surprised everyone by finding love on one of his assignments with a woman of Duscur. She shared his desire to revitalize their culture, enjoyed the simple domesticity of hard work, and had an independent spirit, undaunted by his close relationship to the King of Faerghus. When the pair wed, Dimitri tried to throw them a wedding that rivaled his coronation in splendor, but Dedue insisted on a small ceremony held in his wife's flower garden.

**Ashe** \- After his knighting, Dimitri appointed Ashe as Lord of the Gaspard estate, making him the first commoner to own land in Faerghus. He struggled to dispel his people’s fears that the Church would become entangled in their lives again at the beginning of his rule, but Ashe ultimately became a much-loved leader. He was famous for welcoming Duscur refugees to his lands, resulting in an influx of unique food, plants, and significant money from tourists who had never encountered Duscur’s culture.

**Ingrid **\- With reforms to the Kingdom’s class system, Ingrid no longer needed to worry about marriage to fulfill her duties to House Galatea. Free to pursue her dreams, she proudly accepted knighthood under Dimitri’s rule. She spent her time keeping the peace around her family estate and traveling across Faerghus, aiding efforts to revitalize Duscur’s people. With the truth of the Tragedy revealed, she considered her work a knightly atonement for the false accusations she had once levied against them.

**Felix** \- Although his relationship with Rodrigue improved over time, Felix ultimately forsook the name of House Fraldarius, leaving his father to pass on the title of Duke to a suitable successor outside of their bloodline. Serving Dimitri as an advisor, Felix continued to hone his strength by traveling the world to find worthy opponents. He eventually became the Kingdom's primary ambassador to the militaristic countries of Sreng and Almyra.

**Sylvain** \- Sylvain became a revered Margrave who held the admiration of his people. He spearheaded peace talks with Sreng and was lauded as the mastermind behind a new system of Kingdom governance that did not rely on crests for status. A dedicated bachelor, he remained infamous for being a lover of women but a keeper of none. The stories of his amorous escapades became legend, some even suggesting he had trysts with the king and his advisor.

**Lysithea/Annette** \- With the help of Hanneman's research and Fhirdiad’s mages, Lysithea was eventually able to remove her second crest and enjoy a long life as a world-renounced scholar with an expertise in ancient civilizations. Although she remained in Alliance territory to tend to her family, Lysithea stayed in close contact with Annette, who eventually took over the School of Sorcery in Fhirdiad. When the two found time to see each other, they were known to clean out entire sweets shops in a single visit.

**Hilda/Lorenz** \- With House Riegan no longer presiding and Holst busy at Fodlan's Locket, Hilda and Lorenz became de facto leaders of the Alliance. They were known for their ability to move mountains together, though no one could tell you exactly how they managed it. Until the Almyran border opened many years later, they sent letters about their daily lives and the state of the Alliance to Claude through Holst, who ensured they made it across the border.

**Marianne/Mercedes** \- Marianne and Mercedes traveled the expanse of Fodlan together, helping people and bringing them hope in the wake of the war. Meeting resistance at the borders of tumultuous city-states located in the former Empire, they founded an organization of healers that held no affiliation to any country or religion. This institution of peace allowed them to pursue their relief missions freely between the Kingdom, Alliance, and former Imperial territories, even aiding those outside of Fodlan on several occasions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it! I say 'we' because there's no way I would have finished all these chapters without your amazing support through kudos, recommendations, and comments. Speaking of comments - I'll continue gradually catching up with those while I finish up my Halloween prep and figure out what I want to work on next.
> 
> Some possible things on the horizon: Missing scenes such as Felix's "friendship is magic" talk with Dimitri, a dump of Dimiclaude AU one-shots from ATLA to Hockey, and, of course, the sequel to this fic where Dimitri visits Claude in Almyra, helps our favorite schemer take the throne, and they finally sort out all that romantic and sexual tension between them.
> 
> Thank you again for everything, and I hope this fic was as fun for you to read as it was for me to write!
> 
> I'll leave you with one last gift: my favorite Claude song for EM, [Go the Distance sung by Adam Jacobs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=34yGM2n4Lvs)


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